


Doctor doctor

by Havenlyfics



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Bearded Steve Rogers, Betrayal, Breeding, Brooklyn, Coercion, Dark!Steve, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gangland Brooklyn, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Mild Blood, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Smut, Threats of Violence, Time Skips, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mother reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-01-25 00:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 70,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havenlyfics/pseuds/Havenlyfics
Summary: You're a war widow down on her luck; and the King of Brooklyn, Steve Rogers, takes notice.1940's mobster AU otherwise known as I've been watching too much Peaky Blinders lately.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 456
Kudos: 877





	1. Chapter 1

It's just another night for you, rushing through chilly Brooklyn streets, your medical bag in hand. You know your destination; a stunning double wide brownstone, or rather, its basement. Your job. Your day to day.  
  
You wished this new normal was anything but. 

______________________

  
It had begun months ago, in a butchery. You were down to your last few dollars, your references in hand, with every hope and reason to be hired on; except for your gender placing a wedge in your plans.   
  
"No need for a woman in here, Miss," Butcher Jenkins raised your blood with his words. "I can't be runnin' after you, trimming your cuts, fixing your mess ups. Times is tight."   
  
Oh and you - so polite a candidate - couldn't keep the sass from your tongue. "I'd be fixing _your_ trimmings, Jenkins, with your half cocked eye and shaky hands!" You knew you'd cost yourself your chance; so why not go on? "Your apprentice knows less; most beef sold here bubbles down to fat in a sauce pan!"   
  
He finally built up his words, red-faced. "You get your hide from my shop this instant! Broad like you thinkin' you know a sirloin from a hind cut!"   
  
"Speak like that again and I'll show you the difference 'tween a jugular and a trachea!" The threat went over his head as you slammed the door to his establishment, rafters shaking and startling his other customers.   
  
It was just your luck that one Steven Grant Rogers was in that day for an order of steaks.   
  
You'd piqued his interest.   
  
______________________  
  
  
The first Great War took your father; the second took your husband. Most everything had gone downhill from there.   
  
Your father had brought you up in his own butchery, teaching you cuts and organs long before you'd one day take up the mantel of nurse and midwife. In that, you excelled - you rejected potential suitors, marriage proposals, in favor of your work - but all it took was one still birth in the lap of one of Brooklyn's chattiest slanderers, and your reputation was dashed.   
  
Your quick temper and stubborn pride ensured it wouldn't recover.   
  
Your marriage with Edgar was by no means a fairytale. You needed someone to marry, he needed someone to run his home. Over the short years you grew close, kind to each other. Kind enough to produce a son; the true love of your life. And for a time, you were a family. You, Edgar, and dearest Billy.   
  
But then came the second war; and Roosevelt called a draft.   
  
And quite suddenly, it was just you and Billy.   
  
______________________  
  
The room is hot, there are groans of agony and pain. Blood stains older blood, and cigarette smoke fills the chamber.  
  
"Hang in there, Buck; Doc's on her way."   
  
A regular night for the King of Brooklyn.   
  
Steve's new normal worked for him quite fine.   
  
Spotting you in Jenkins' Meats was entirely by chance, but he'd call it destiny. The flame in you had caught his eye, but your knowledge sparked his interest. He'd never met a woman who knew the word jugular, much less what it was. His gears were spinning by the time he left the shop; he could see wild potential.   
  
It didn't take much digging to learn about you; Y/N Y/L/N, war widow, mother to an orphaned son, and a skilled woman with a penchant for guff. Further research told him your skills were in nursing, birthing, minor cutting up - and the daughter of a butcher. His heart swooned; you were just what he needed.   
  
Not for play - yet - but for work. He was, after all, a businessman. And business was bloody. Crime usually was.   
  
Brooklyn was his pride and joy, and he ran it's foulest workings like he'd been born for it; but there were bound to be snags, mishaps. Gangs clashed, territories were fought over, and blood spilt. Enough that they needed a doctor.   
  
But doctors - pretentious, high-and-mighties with moral compasses and hippocratic oaths - would need to be paid off, coerced, threatened into servitude. Time, money, muscle; all of which Steve was a skin flint over. No, what was easier, was existing desperation. Somebody who'd already lost almost everything, that was what he had his heart set on.   
  
And then, there you were, fallen right into his lap, practically gift wrapped. What luck.   
  
______________________  
  
  
Blood, blood, blood; and he screamed extra loud when you dug the bullet from his shoulder. You'd seen all manner of slug in men's flesh, since falling under Steve Rogers' employ. Tonight it is a mean hunk of lead, the size of a chestnut, struck deep into the meat and bone of James Barnes; jumped to save his friend and boss.   
  
People bled for Steve Rogers. You'd seen that too.   
  
He finally settled, passing out from pain and loss of blood, as you sewed up the muscle and sinew as neatly as you could. It was by no means pretty, he'd bear a vicious scar; but with luck and cleaning, he would live. Steve had his boys, Dugan and Dernier, bring Barnes up to his bunk; the poor sod would sleep til morning.   
  
As it had been for countless nights, you were left alone, with Steve, in his basement stunk of blood, cleaning up his mess.   
  
It was everything normal was never supposed to be.   
  
Steve rubbed at his beard, staring hard at the back of you while you scrubbed bleach into your makeshift surgical table. He probably should've wondered, why he found you that much more intriguing covered in blood, but he didn't. "You did good work tonight, Doc," an affectionate title you wore like an insult. "Buck would be dead without ya."   
  
"Glad to be of service." Like your instruments, your response was cold and unyielding. Much of your surgery was guesswork, hoping that a stitch would hold on you rudimentary knowledge of traumatic injury. So far, no one had died.   
  
You were snapping shut your bag, keen to take your scalpels and scissors back home for a good boiling, as Steve huffed an annoyed sigh. "Y'could stay for a drink, y'know. Celebrate."   
  
_'What have I to celebrate?'_ Your mind was cold as you faced him; the devil that made him had blessed him with viciously good looks. You scorned yourself for noticing, as you often did. "I have to get home. I won't leave my boy alone so long; someone might come wondering where his mother is."   
  
He stepped nearer, inadvertently putting himself between you and the stairs. "Such a good Mamma, ain't ya?" His accent was always thicker when he drank, and he always had himself a whiskey when one of his men was in mortal peril.   
  
He drank often.   
  
Your eyes bugged out at him as he twirled a strand of your hair, unlocked from your updo by stress and sweat. "Y'know, this place has more rooms than I know what to do with. Tons of space for a mother and baby."   
  
Your talented hand caught his wrist, giving a quick, hard yank to pull him from your hair. "I'll thank you not to touch me, Steve," your words bit like a threat, but you knew you were overstepping. "My son will never know you, much less sleep in this damn house."   
  
His expression soured, dropping his hand to his side; while his other tensed in his pocket. "You curse my house, but you seem plenty fine taking my money, livin' comfortably," grabby he was - reaching out to pinch your thick thigh through your skirts. "Havin' plenty's laid on a few pounds, ain't it?"   
  
Again you smacked his hand away, harder this time, before stepping back. "As if I have a choice!" Steve was well aware of your unemployment before he'd found you; it's why he'd bothered with the finding. "Do you think I want to be this? A back room saw-bone for the city's degenerates--"   
  
His hand caught hot against your cheek; one mean smack.   
  
"Those men you sew up are my brothers," he growled out. His hands swept up, one clutching your jaw and your waist, backing you into your surgical table. "They bleed for the world I'm building, for the money we make, and you think you can run 'em through the mud?" He leaned in further, his whiskers brushed your ear. "You're not so stainless, doll."   
  
"_OFF_-a me!!" You howled, pushing with all your force; your jaw was freed, but he still held your middle. "I do what I have to for my boy; this is not my life!"   
  
"It is your life!" He snarled. You were both loud now, but nobody would come prying. They knew better. "Y/N, you can poo-poo over all this blood n' guts, but you are part of this, and there's no getting 'round it. You're in the Rogers family now."   
  
Tears pricked behind your eyes; the truth twisted in your gut like a rusty knife. You choked back a sob in favor of a piercing glare. "I work for you, Steve Rogers," your voice was hardly a whisper. "But I am no kin of yours. I am no relation to the beast of Brooklyn!!"   
  
Oh, now you'd done it. That name was never uttered in Steve's walls, even by his precious physician. He saw red, and his body moved on its own.   
  
Your head's smarting from the sharp knock against the table, and you could hardly breathe with his powerful hand around your throat. He's got you pinned, and the beast he's named for is roaring behind his sea-blue eyes. How dare he still be so handsome.   
  
"I pay for you. You are mine," he hissed, knelt over your frozen still body. "You don't like it, you cut yourself free and go back to rottin' in some tenement building somewhere."   
  
Your silence was your answer.   
  
"Or," he continued, his hand creeping up to your reddened cheek, cupping it like a lover. "You can shut your gob, fly right, and do what it is I pay you for. Is that somethin' you can abide, good Doctor?"   
  
What choice was there? Pinned by a beast, pinned by circumstance; Steve Rogers was the only friendly vessel in an ocean of destitution, offering a rope to save yourself.   
  
Pirate or not, he was your only life line.   
  
"Yes, Steve." You jerked your head in a nod, earning one of his sinister smirks. Compliance, done with; but that wasn't his only goal of the evening.   
  
"Good," his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, studying the curves and plump of your face. "Now then, about you moving in."   
  
"We won't live here!" Your voice rose again, his fingers pressed harder. "My son... doesn't need to know what I do."   
  
"So he won't," Steve shrugged, tracing what bits of your jaw and neck were exposed. "Say it's a new lodging, I'm your landlord. We'll put you on the top floor, he won't hear what goes on down here," his tongue flicked over his lips. "...I want you kept close."   
  
Your mouth gaped; his suggestion was obvious. "I-I won't be your whore-- that's not why I'm here--"   
  
"Darlin', you're already sellin' those pretty hands," he murmured; the smell of blood was driving him wild. "Give me the other inches of that flesh, and you won't want for anything."   
  
"I don't want this!" You cried out, pushing at his shoulders; he pinned your wrists above your head.   
  
"Don't you?" He snickered, laying his weight on you; stiffness pressed against your hip. "I know how girls see me, easy on the eyes. I can have my pick of any dame this side of the East River."   
  
"Then pick someone else! Any young twig would say yes--"   
  
"I don't want twigs," he hummed, his hand slipping down to squeeze your fleshy hip. "They're all well and good for bein' seen on the arm, but it's somethin' thick and juicy I want warming my bed," his head dipped further in, lips against your jaw. "And I _know_ you wouldn't mind warmin' it either."   
  
You damned your body for heating, longing despite your mind. The woman in you still craved a man, and it just had to be him. That bloody beast.   
  
But every woman has needs.   
  
"I'll take nothing from you but my dues," you were shaky, your resolve tumbling. Your breathe and blush betrayed you. "You'll pay me for my knowledge. For my stitching up. That's all."   
  
His brows raised; you were the subtle sort, but he caught your meaning. "That's all," he agreed. Freely he ground himself against your hip then; you acquiesced, he smiled. "And for your body?"   
  
"You'll give me yours." You gave him the kiss first; and he practically devoured you. Gentlemen didn't kiss like he did; but as his teeth and tongue savored yours, you knew there was never any going back to gentlemen.   
  
He loosed your wrists, nimble fingers pulling the pins from your hair; he'd been dying to run his hands through. He got a little lost in the taste of you, in the fullness of your mouth on his; but his rock hard length kept him focused on his greater goal.   
  
"Lemme get this off'a ya," he panted, pulling at your frock like a man possessed, lips hardly leaving yours to speak. He nearly split the dress down the middle, your chemise hardly concealing soft, full breasts and flesh. "Fuck; bless these," he finally dipped lower, nuzzling the ample flesh, tasting just as hungrily. "Softer than damn silk... bless ya."   
  
"Chatty, aren't you?" You'd never been with a man so talkative; you wished he'd shut up as your body gushed on every word. "Never known a man to wag his tongue."   
  
"Be good tonight and I'll show ya how I wag my tongue," he earned his first gap as his mouth closed around the chenille, sucking and lapping at a peak. "You'll have plenty to say too, once we're goin'."   
  
Your spine arched involuntarily, thrusting your breast up to his starvation, his hands gripping every inch of you he could reach; he was a greedy man, he wanted all he could take. Tugging along, your bloodied skirts fell to the floor, slip and stockings bare before him. He wasn't a godly man; but he looked on you like a miracle.   
  
"W-what?" You questioned, arms twitching up for coverage. "Not the curves you were hoping for?"   
  
He chuckled, shaking his head while he shed his suspenders, ripping apart the buttons of his crisp white shirt. "No, gorgeous," he cooed, trousers unbuttoned. "Your just what the doctor ordered."   
  
Chemise pushed up and down; soft mounds displayed as his thumbs pulled apart your lips, glistening pink welcoming him. Deft digits delved in; he was an experienced man. "Oh--oh god, there--"   
  
"--I know just where," he assured you; fingers curved, swirled, and your voice was music in reply. "That's it, oh yes, fuckin' perfect. Wet for me, ain't you? Soaked?"   
  
You didn't dare give him an affirmative; instead a groan, twisting, writhing. It was enough of an answer.   
  
"Turned your brain off, didn't I?" He sounded so smug, pulling back to finish his unlacing.   
  
Your mind reformed enough to argue. "Y-you're not some magic thing, Rogers, I'm not some ditz--"   
  
"Oh shut up," he was gentle in his words, pulling himself from his pants, stroking his cock; impressive, to say the least. "It's alright Doc, switch your brain off. Don't go thinkin', just do."   
  
"Just do." You repeated, eying the thick, stiff flesh in his hand, your legs draping apart in relent. Don't think of this horrible beast, don't think of what he's done, the blood on the floor, the blood yet to be spilt. Just do.   
  
He's almost delicate as he lays over you, head catching at your channel as his lips catch yours; his tongue slides through as he does, the kiss warming you, his thrust setting you on fire.   
  
It had been some time since Edgar; and he'd never reached such depths.   
  
"Oh _fuck_!" You didn't hold back as he set his pace; languid but firm. He was sure to hit deep as he bottomed out, every stroke intense and nigh overwhelming. "S-Steve-!"   
  
"Yeah, there's my girl," he crowed in pleasure, pride; goal won. Women, he'd have plenty of, but one like you, soft and round and plump, with your integrity; the true prize. "God you're absolute gold, doll, you are."   
  
"S-so chatty," you chided again, cautiously reaching around, massaging the muscles of his back; twitching and tensing as he pounded forwards, eagerly doing - no thinking. "A-ahh... must have practice."   
  
"Loads," he wasn't about to shy from his conquests; his hips snapped harder, eyes rolled back. "Built up to you, didn't it, darlin'?"   
  
He'd been successful; your brain had, indeed, switched off. You moaned, unabashed and unbridled, for him, for his doings. He returned his own grunts and growls in answer; he hated the name, but rutting like beasts, that he would happily take part in.   
  
Sweeter than should've been kisses lined your skin as he filled you, eager and hungry, a man bent on pleasure. The chamber's stink of blood was washed over by the scent of sex, whines and gasps and groans in accompaniment; the basement hadn't held such base desires in ages.   
  
His breath was hot in the crook of your neck as he grew harder, sharper with his hips, pushing home like he was settling to live in you. "Nearly there," he warned; as were you. One of those wicked hands slithered between you, polishing your pearl in efforts to have you win the race. "You first, doc."   
  
Your mouth gaped, toes curled, every muscle flexed and relaxed and flexed again; he'd opened floodgates you'd not known were so full. His name screamed, but none would come to pry; it was in glory, gratitude, pleasure. Your music, your tightening, the thick of you did him in; with still mind enough to notice he pulled free, spending across your thighs, belly. White pearlescence painted on your flesh.   
  
When the ringing of angel's bells in your ears finally stopped, you were met with a silence. Steve hardly peeped, but for a hiss as he tucked himself away, smoothing his hair back, labored breath stilling into calm. You laid there, sore and satisfied, as every ounce of the weight of reality came down around you.   
  
What had you done?   
  
"You were bloody perfect, Doc," he purred, leaning over the table again, tracing your locks. As was before, you didn't want him touching you; but there was no getting back to before. "Just like I imagined it."   
  
You shuddered inwardly, sitting up finally to straighten your chemise; you took a handkerchief he'd offered you to clean his sticky seed from your skin. "This... this should not happen again, Steve. It can't." You decided.   
  
He smiled, patting your cheek. "I'll send for you and your things in the morning. It's moving day." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna casually update this; I've got a loose story in my head, and we'll see where this goes. 
> 
> Dub - non - con sex, oral, PiV, unprotected sex lie ahead!

You were a prisoner - everyone knew it, and nobody dared to say it. 

Steve had kept true to his orders; he'd moved you and Billy into his sizeable compound the day after your illicit tryst. You couldn't protest, merely holding your son as his moving team - comprised of lesser gang members - hauled off your meagre belongings. You didn't want to imagine what he'd do if you'd refused them. 

But still, a month into your new situation, you refused - him, specifically. It wasn't too tricky; you kept yourself busy, practically glued your son to your hip so you'd never be alone. Never vulnerable to Steve, with his wandering hands and manipulative words. You intended to keep true to your word; you would be his doctor, nothing more, and nothing less. 

Steve had vastly different plans.   
  
______________________

  
Billy - that was your little boy's name. You'd not once let it slip, and even knowing it felt like a private little secret to Steve. He savored it; the sex, after all, was no secret. Though they never said the words, his men were winking at him and clapping him on the back days after those moans wafted up from the basement. The same was assumed by outsiders; whenever a woman entered the infamous Rogers residence, most onlookers assumed they were there for sex. 

The public was shockingly correct this time - or so he wanted them to be. 

You were being difficult. 

He'd go looking for you, but you were never alone; your sweet little urchin was always in arm's reach. Now, Steve lacked morals, but he wasn't about to force a child to watch as he took his mother in a husband's way. He wasn't quite so depraved - but he had his desires, he knew your game, and he had ways to beat it. 

______________________

  
You woke that morning to suspicious quiet; there was a silence in your attic apartment that did not come with a young boy. Something was amiss; someone was missing. 

"Billy?" Sleep coated your voice at first, until you stumbled to his cot to find it empty. "Billy!?" 

Your heart jumped into a rapid beat, as you threw on your dressing gown to begin your search. You pulled the door open; only to be met with the great brick wall that was Steve. 

"G'morning Doc," he purred, hands tucked into his pockets as he strode you back into your room. "You're lookin' rested." 

"Where is my boy!?" You could've killed him with your daggered stare. "I swear, I swear if you've harmed him I'll--" 

"Whoa now, I'd never hurt the kid, he's fine," his long leg kicked the door shut behind him, before he made his way to the porthole window that faced the street. "He's just a bit busy."

Cautiously you joined him; he tugged the lace curtain back to give you a view of the scene below. 

There, indeed, was Billy; playing. 

A group of children, no doubt local or other offspring of the gang, were happily kicking along a ball as Steve's right hand, Bucky, and his fixer, Natasha, kept watch. In the center of it all was Billy; grinning, screeching, laughing, and carefree. 

You'd never seen him so happy. 

"He's made some friends," Steve's voice tugged you from the joyful goings on, back to you, alone, with him. "Seems pretty happy. He's got a good life here, doesn't he?" 

You didn't answer -- he didn't like that. 

His fingers gripping your jaw, he twisted your face to meet his; a scowl under his beard. "Doesn't he, Doc. Answer me." 

Hot tears welled but you wouldn't dare let them spill. "Yes." You choked through clenched teeth.

"Yes, he does," Steve's grip loosened, but only enough to run his thumb across your lip. "He fits in so well... so why aren't you even tryin' to be cordial?" 

"Cordial," you hissed in disbelief. "Is 'bend over and shut up' what you'd call cordial!?" 

A muscle in his neck twitched; but he didn't smack you, at least. "I haven't bent you over anything," he growled; his second hand left his pocket to wrap your waist. "You were plenty willing that first night, down in the basement; but you've been a prudish, icy bitch since I brought you here." 

"You forced me to come here!" You argued. "I didn't ask for this!" 

"No you didn't, but you have it, don't you!?" He turned your whole body back to the window, your body squeezed between his and the wall. "You have security. You have safety. And your little darling ankle-biter down there is livin' like a boy king - and you think you can get all of that for nothing?" 

Away from his gaze, a tear or two fell. "I-I'm your Doctor... I fix your men... I do my part." 

"You do," he conceded, fingertips slipping along the exposed skin above your robe. "But that's not all I have you here for, is it?" He could feel your breath hitch as his hand slid softly up your neck. "My bed's been so cold since you moved in... you can't tell me you didn't like it, either." 

Your spine was ramrod straight, your muscles ice. His touch was scalding in comparison. "I... it was a mistake," your voice was hoarse, hardly a breath. "That was never supposed to happen; that can't happen again." 

"But it _will_," his hand was suddenly a claw around your throat, stopping up a scream. "Doc, you're on my payroll. It's by the grace of me that you and your boy live on these streets, much less in my own damn home; and all I'm wantin' is another taste of this," your eyes squinted shut as his second hand yanked up the fold of your robe, cupping your sex beneath a cotton nightie. "Or would you rather be out on your ass - the both of you?" 

Your eyes were saucers, snapped wide. "Steve-- you'd turn out a little boy, to nothing!?"

"I've done worse," his fingers were toying now; despite your disgust he was finding heat. Your body, traitorous, wanted more of what it'd tasted. "Or maybe I keep the kid... fine young man like him could do well in our ranks." 

"Please!" You struggled - some might say arched - against him, pleading for God knows what. "S-Steve, please, no--" 

"Are you gonna be a good girl, then?" He sneered, nuzzling his nose against your sleep mussed hair; it still surprised him how he drowned in your smell. "You're gonna fall in line, do what's asked of you? Keep your life?" 

You should never have conceded. Had you really been so naive to believe that one night would be enough for him? This beast of greed? You berated yourself endlessly - but there was nothing left for you to do. Your voice barely made it past the lump in your throat. "Alright," you acquiesced, shaking hands attempting to pull at his. "I'll come to your room tonight, once Billy's asleep--" 

Your words stopped as both his hands jumped to your hips, dragging them back against him and unbalancing your legs. "I'm not waiting for tonight, Doc," he was smug, grinding every inch of himself against your backside. "I'm hard now." 

You were mortified; you tried to tug yourself away by the curve of the window sil, but Steve wasn't allowing you to budge. "Steve no, Billy could be up any second--!" 

"He won't be; Buck and Nat won't bring him back in til I give the word," again he pulled you back against him, your upper body now bent forward as you struggled. "C'mon," his hand was sharp as he smacked your flesh, giving it an appraising squeeze to follow. "You really want to go back on your word so quickly?" 

It was all you could do not to collapse into the floor; who knew what reproach he'd dole out if you had. Arms shaking, your head shook, burning eyes straining at the floor. "No, Steve... let's get this over with."

He frowned at your wording, but he had you bending all the same. "Good; now stay just like that," the floor creaked as he moved, letting go to shrug off his crisp blazer, unbutton his bespoke trousers. "Don't move a muscle." 

You braced for a tearing of your nightclothes, the fierce and all too early entrance of his manhood; you got anything but. You shivered in fear as he dropped to his knees, wide hands slowly dragging up your legs, taking your robe and hems with it; as if he were judging every bit of you, like a prize horse. He was far too gentle, the polar opposite of the man who'd crushed you into the wall, as he slid your intimates down to your ankles. It felt nearly clinical; him leaning in, peering, inspecting, his breath hot. What was his game? 

"Wh-what the hell are you doi--oh-ohh!" 

His mouth was far hotter than his breath. 

You'd heard of this before - Edgar had never attempted it - from certain ladies in your midwifery days. When their husbands loved them so much, they'd kiss them in a different way; Steve didn't love you though, so why, you asked inwardly, _why_ was he churning his tongue so tenderly? You gripped the wooden window frame tighter, his exploration thorough and ever onward; you thought the wood might splinter. 

He growled happily from behind you, from inside you, a sopping mess growing from both his efforts and your responses. Nothing thrilled him quite so much as that sinful kiss; he could tell you'd never known it, from how pitifully you hid your shameful groans, how your legs twitched. He felt a new power; teaching you something you'd never known. 

A tricky thing to do with a 'doctor'. 

You didn't want it to happen, you clenched your teeth, willed it not to; but he kept lapping away with such voracious hunger, nails digging into soft flesh, and his own delicious sounds, you were a lost cause. Your brain forgot the rule as you pressed back against his generous mouth, unraveling, your testament to his talents spilling down his bearded chin, dripping onto the floorboards. You exalted and damned him in the same thought. 

"Told ya', I know how to wag my tongue," He stood triumphant, letting your spendings seep into his whiskers; he'd carry that prize with him all day. Now, again, his hands grasped your hips, the soft dimples of your skin hardening him all the more. It wasn't much fuss to pull his length from his undershorts, languishing in a few strokes. "Had to get you set; isn't any fun if you ain't slippery for me. I hate the sound of a woman weepin' while I have her." 

You thought of doing just that, as the first inch caught at your sex; but the sob you'd intended came out a whine of pleasure as he pushed forward, welcomed back in like an old friend. Beyond your will, you whispered. "S-Steve..." 

Even your voice was betraying you. 

"That's it, Y/N," he preened, lying his front against your back; he was right in your ear, right in your head as his hips bucked, finding a steady, dominant rhythm. "Oh I feel you; you missed me, can't even deny it with this sweet, wet wanting for me, can you?" 

Again you struggled, but now to remain standing. He reached those hidden places again, spots you couldn't find twice with your own hands; you hated he had such a talent.

"W-why can't you just shut your mouth..?" It was as much as you could do to chide him, your eyes rolling shut at his sins.

A particularly sharp thrust forced up a yelp, his arms circling you, one to hold you tight, the other to cup and tease your breasts. "I know you don't want that, doll," he didn't relent as he went on, the sway and flex of his muscles against you almost taunting, and all too demeaning. "You squeeze me that much tighter when I tell ya how much I love this gorgeous-"

A pinch. 

"-Thick-"

A kiss. 

"-Plump-"

A groan. "--Tasty body; and you'd ask me to stop? Shame on you." 

You were nearly biting through your lip, the taste of copper present; you bowed your head in shame as a familiar coil tightened in your depths, one he'd sprung before. "P-please, please..." 

"What are you beggin' for?" He questioned, hands somehow everywhere. Teasing, tweaking, tugging. "You don't even know, do ya?"

He chuckled at that, and it brought your blood up as much as did his presence in your channel. "I-I want you to-- to finish... so this'll be over." 

He grimaced behind you; your body couldn't lie to him, slicker by the minute, but he hated your pathetic rejection all the same. "That's not it, Y/N," his voice was darker than ever, rumbling in your brain. "You've never been fucked like this; I can tell," his right hand dipped lower, your bud coming alive at his touch. "I can tell by this flood... you love it, you fuckin' love it, and your proud, prude mind can't take it." 

With every swipe of his experienced fingers you came closer to the point of no return, the space he'd lured you to before; your body was winning over your mind, howling inside like a bitch in heat. "I-I'm not... I don't...!" You couldn't string the words together past your ever climbing release. In his arms, you were a lost cause. 

"You are and you do," he relished in that torment, seeing you pulled apart for him; every push and pull was bringing him ever nearer too, and this time, he had plans. "Your pride keeps you up here, hiding away; your opinions keep you from my bed... when we both know all you really want..." 

He pinched, and kneaded. It was all too much. 

"Is this." 

You properly screamed this time, losing touch with your muscles, held up sheerly by his strength alone; your mind was set adrift in that endless, endorphin made space, connected only by the spasms and twitches of your sex around his. You barely heard his own shout, what sounded like your name; hardly felt him spill his seed. The animal in you purred gladly, that it had won again; while the human in you shamed itself. 

You wafted back to your body soon enough, feeling him panting against your back, applying soft kisses to the top of your spine, before unwinding his devious arms, licking your juice from his fingers. He was smug, retrieving his coat from the floor, while you fell to your knees before the porthole window, still grabbing at the sil like it was the last vestige of your dignity. 

"You alright?" 

It was a gentle question; but your body felt raw, unimaginablely used. You could feel him everywhere; in the sweat down your sides, his kisses down your back. Even his spend dripping down your thigh... 

_'Wait.' _

"Did you..." your mind pieced it together, body shaking in realization. Yor head turned to him, and he looked as if he already knew your question. "..._finish_ inside me?" 

His smirk shone through his beard. "Where else was I s'posed to do it?" 

Your body fell cold - you were desperately counting your monthlies, how long it'd been, what you could do. He simply smiled, fastening his fly. "W-what if..?" 

"What if I knock you up?" He finished your question, crouching and cradling your chin. His blue eyes seemed icier than ever. "We'll have to see, won't we? I mean, its not like you're goin' anywhere, Doc." His fingers flexed, almost bruising. "I bought you. You're mine now." 

How right he was. 

You barely responded as he leaned in, claiming your mouth in a lazy, sloppy kiss. It was his last victory of the day, as he patted your cheek. 

"You'll come to my room tonight, once the boy's asleep." 

And you would - what choice did you have? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos give me life! ~♡♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kinda got away from me, wound up much longer than expected; but I had fun with it :) 
> 
> Warning-   
Straight up non-con   
Oral sex   
Angst and drama?

You'd never taken such a relieving breath as when you'd found blood in your underclothes a week later. 

Fate had granted you a little reprieve from your torment. Steve's seed had failed to catch; even with the handful of couplings you'd been forced into since the attic. You counted yourself lucky, and prayed that he might be sterile; because you knew now he wouldn't stop. 

You were a modern woman of the times; you knew of the backalley women who ran their homes like surgeries, where ladies in the family way could go to 'be rid of things'. In your time as a midwife, you'd served patients while they bled, sobbed from a successful cutting; or simply held their hand as they slipped away, the operation too much for them. 

Yes, you knew these places; but you knew equally there was no standard. There was no way of verifying anyone's instruments or credentials, and a slip or knick would mean you bleeding out on the table. Then what would become of your little boy? 

The risks involved were too high; so you could only continue to pray for sterility, monthlies, or a waning of interest. Should your prayers go unheard... that was a reality you could not think on.

"Mamma!" You were snapped out of your thinking, out of washing bloody hands in a basin in the main kitchen, by Billy bounding up behind you, clinging to your skirts. He grinned up at you, a baby tooth missing here and there, and the world felt lighter. 

"Hello my darling!" You hoisted him up into a spinning hug; it always made him laugh. He was never too heavy for you to hold. "I feel like I haven't seen you in days!" 

He rolled his eyes, giggling. "Mamma I was at school, 'member? 'M old enough now t'go!" 

The years were shooting by; Billy, already four, in his first year of this newfangled _kindergarten_ \- you'd never gone to lessons so young, but he seemed to enjoy it. 

"That's right my dear, how do I keep forgetting?" You teased, setting him down and ruffling his hair before kissing his forehead. "You must tell me what you learned today." 

Billy ambled over to a kitchen stool, crawling up onto it as you made for the pantry; he was no doubt hungry. "Today we talked 'bout numbers, n' how they go together - Miss Dorothy was real surprised when I did up to ten plus ten." 

You beamed with pride at that, securing a loaf of bread and a pat of butter. You'd made a point of teaching him numbers early; sciences were a bit much for him just yet. "I'm sure you're the brightest in your class; you've always been a little smarty pants." 

"Yeah..." he sounded apprehensive, swinging his legs as you set to preparing him a snack. "Just uhm... other kids don' really like it." 

Your ears perked, and you stopped to turn to him. "What do you mean, Billy?" 

He was fidgeting now; it was his classic tell, whenever he was nervous. "They were callin' me a show off... and then this one big kid, he pushed me at play time." 

"Well that won't do," your spine chilled; your attention suddenly turned to find Steve leaning in the doorframe, shaking his head with a steadfast expression. He was dressed down to his slacks, a button up and suspenders - done his business dealings for the day. "Nobody lives under my roof gets pushed, not on my watch." 

You wished Billy had a healthy fear of Steve; but he jumped off his seat eagerly, hugging your captor's leg as happily as he had yours. "Hi Mr.Steve!" Billy chirped, craning his neck up. 

Steve threw down a million watt smile, scooping up your son and letting him rest in his arms; the sight turned your stomach. "You can just call me Steve, it's alright Billy," he assured him, patting the little boy's back. "Now, this kid that pushed you. You know his name?"

"S-Steve, I'm sure it's fine, we'll work this out ourselves--" you tried to step in, keep him out of it, but he shot you such a daggerful look, it froze your words in your throat. 

"His name is... I think it's Harry?" Billy scratched his head, not knowing the unholy tide he was bringing down. "I think his last name starts with 'O'."

Steve gave a deep nod, lending a reassuring smile at your boy. "Don't you worry about it, kiddo; I'll have a talk with the kid's parents," you doubted there would be any talking involved. "I'll get it straightened out." 

"Thank you miste-- thank you Steve!" Billy wrapped his little arms around Steve, as if he'd grown up hugging him. There was nothing you could do, there; you could never tell him what Steve put you through. With his fatherly facade, Billy would only come to idolize him further. 

"Anytime, champ," Steve chuckled before setting him down, ruffling his hair as you had done. "Why don't you run on through to the parlor? Think I saw Buck and Sam tuckin' into some peppermint patties. You tell 'em I said to give you one, okay?" 

That was all Billy needed to hear. He was beaming, racing through hallways to find the parlor; far from the maids' kitchen. Steve had you cornered; he'd been getting much better at that lately. Earning your son's trust had been a large part of that; and you hated it. 

"Looks like it's just you n' me, Doc," the self righteous smirk he wore made you want to smack him. He sauntered over to you, til your backside hit the kitchen counter. "Missed you today." 

You kept your eyes on the snack you'd been preparing; Billy had abandoned it in favor of Steve's sweeter offer. "Mm." 

"Been a busy day; lots to do on my end," he went on, cracking his neck. Still you looked away; he didn't care for that. Firmly - nearly pinching - he cupped your face, turning you to him. He stared expectantly. "Where's my kiss?" 

There wasn't any point in resisting that; it'd only land you in hotter water. Eyes hard and fixed, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his, trying to keep it as clinical as possible; but Steve's tongue always found a way to wiggle into your mouth, and likewise to make you sigh. He was quick to slither around you, his fingers knitting with your hair to keep your mouth on his, while his second paw happily groped your ass. Every touch felt like a win to him. 

When finally you couldn't catch your breath, you pulled your head to the side, panting. He let you take your air, lust brimming in his eyes. He loved seeing you just after orgasm, yes, but he loved far more to see you breathless, the raw redness of his beard scratching your skin. It was a mark he'd been there; a clear sign you were his. 

"There's your kiss," you snapped, trying to wriggle away. "May I go look after my son?" 

"N' a minute," he hummed, petting at your hip. "Y'went and got me all fired up, doll. How 'bout I take you up to my bed for a bit, get this handled?" He pressed his erection against your lower belly; your womb cramped in response.

"I can't tonight." You shook your head, again trying to pull away. 

His fervent expression turned to a pout of annoyance. "For fuck's sake Doc, I thought we were past this, you don't get--" 

"I've got-- my monthly's come in." You stammered; and didn't miss the disappointment that briefly crossed his face. 

"Oh, is that all?" He shrugged a shoulder, tugging you closer, tracing the line of your neck with his nose. "Don't matter t'me; I've fucked plenty of dames on the rag before. Seems they like it better, even." 

Your spine chilled; what you thought would be a reprieve was turning into an even larger mess. You had to think fast. "Well sure, o-orgasms can help with uterine cramps in women but... but it can be dangerous to have intercourse. For the _man_ that is." 

His grip loosened, and he looked down at you with a knit brow. "What do you mean?" 

_'Oh thank heavens.'_ You nodded your head, applying a sincere face. "Incredibly dangerous. If a man gets blood lodged in his-- in his penis, well, it can turn into a painful blockage, and swell, and bruise," his face was paling with every word. "As a nurse, I heard of one man in such a severe case, they had to _cut it off_." 

Steve gulped. "Oh." 

God bless men's ignorance. 

"You're very lucky you haven't had that happen, yet," you went on. His eyes were saucers; there was almost something endearing about his bewilderment. "But it can happen to anybody. Why take the chance?" 

Steve nodded; he didn't know enough about womankind to know it was a lie. And why mistrust a midwife's training? "Best not. Yeah." 

You were cheering inside yourself; God had finally smiled on you. "Agreed," you nodded, slipping free from his limp arms. "I really must see to Billy now. He didn't have his snack, he needs something before dinner." 

As you placed the buttered bread onto a plate, and made for the door, Steve's hand gripped your shoulder. "Wait." 

"Y-yes?" You stopped, worried he'd worked out the falsehood in his head. You prayed he wouldn't be so quick. 

"I still want you in my room tonight," he insisted, leaning into your neck from behind you, applying a kiss to your pulse. "We'll find something else to do." 

You gulped. _'What have I done now?' _

______________________

  
Night had fallen hours ago. Billy was tucked up safely in his trundle bed, hopefully sleeping as soundly as you'd left him. 

You, however, were anything but sound and safe, stood before the thick oak door that entered into Steve's bedroom. You were meant to knock - he'd never trust you with a key - but your fists were frozen stiff at your sides, knuckles blanching rather than rapping against the wood. 

Dozens of escape plans whirred in your brain, running off in the night, taking Billy and yourself straight to the police; but every plan fell hopeless in the end. He had too many friends in high places, his hooks in the flesh of powerful people. Wherever you went, Steve Rogers' reach would stretch to pull you back. 

_'The sooner I find out his plans, the sooner this is over with,'_ you reasoned with yourself. You'd been thinking over what exactly he'd be expecting of you for the evening; and still hadn't guessed it._ 'Just leave with my life. That's all I ask.' _

As you were about to lift your hand, a creak in the staircase had you jumping. A swift turn of your head revealed Steve's near silent right hand - Bucky. He was staring at you with that unknowable expression, the one he always wore. He hadn't been quite the same since that surgery in the basement. 

"M-Mr.Barnes," you whispered, nodding in courtesy. You knew what your presence at Steve's door implied, at such a late hour; and you didn't want to go further mucking your reputation. Even to a gangster like him. "I-I was just-- Mr.Rogers asked me--" 

"Knock, _**Bednyaga**_," you blinked - what foreign tongue had he spoken? "He won't be kept waiting." Before you could reply, he was off like a ghost, to his own quarters a few doors down. You had to wonder what he'd heard so far.

You were about to raise your fist to knock - really - when the door pulled open anyway, Steve looking strangely suspicious on the other side. "Doc," he glanced into the hallway, inspecting. "You talkin' to someone out here?" 

Your head shook on instinct; and though he didn't believe you, he just huffed and pulled you into his chamber. 

Steve's bedroom never grew less daunting, no matter how much time you spent within it. It was as grand and ornate as the rest of the house, chock full of refinery, with a wide, obnoxious four poster bed in its center, made of rich, stained mahogany. His walls were dark, but popping with fragments of his past. A photo of a woman you assumed to be his mother, an image of he and Bucky dressed in their army best; he'd been a captain. You could tell from the stars on his uniform. 

The taxidermy eagle that perched above his fireplace was simply audacious though. 

"Drink?" He'd left you standing in the entry way, moving to the bar cart he kept in the corner, near a window. He had already uncorked a bottle of whiskey, two tumblers at the ready. 

"I ought not to," you declined, smoothing out your skirt. "Should just... attend to what's at hand." 

He threw a sharp look over his shoulder. Ignoring your declination, he filled both glasses, quite liberally, and strode back to you with one in an outstretched hand. 

"Drink." 

He wasn't asking. 

The liquor burned your throat as you forced it down, all under his waiting eye. Once you'd swallowed, he took a sip of his own, beckoning you further than the door. 

"That wasn't so hard, now was it," he sneered, back turned to you again, busying himself with a top-of-the-line vitrola, setting up a record. He'd never behaved like this before - it was making you uneasy. "Following instructions ain't the end of the world." 

Your skin prickled as you drilled a glare into the back of his head. "S'pose not." You spat. 

He shook his head, dropping the needle to his record. The fuzzy twang of guitar and piano filled the air, and you knew Peggy Lee's voice when you heard it. At one point, you'd owned that same record - before pawning it to feed your son.

You took another gulp of whiskey; and found you'd drained your cup.

Your empty glass and Miss Lee's smokey tones distracted you, just until Steve's fingers slid through your unoccupied hand. His face was hard; but the lights had him looking exhausted. "Dance with me." 

Your face must've dropped into disdainful surprise, because his hand gripped all the tighter. It seemed like a joke - this was not the deal. "Why?" 

"Because I asked." It was as much an answer you'd get. He pulled you in, palm on your back, the other held aloft like a proper dance partner. Your glass teetered precariously in your hand, but you held on. For a moment, you were reminded of dancing at your wedding; but Edgar never cut such a figure as Steve did. Had you a say, you'd have kept a respectable distance as you swayed, but he had you right against him, practically molded to him. You were almost ready to scream when he rested his bearded cheek against the top of your head. 

This was simply wicked; confusing you in such a way. 

"Why are we doing this?" You were bold with your question, even if it came as a whisper. 

He sighed, his breath fluttering a few strands of your hair. "It's been a long day," he murmured back; he seemed to be entirely someplace else. "I needed to feel... different." 

_'Different,'_ you mulled it over, the guitar solo bouncing off the walls. _'Why not leave me be for an evening, that'd be different.'_ Even with his tired voice and slowly relaxing body, you were on edge. You tried, though, not to poke the beast. "What... what made the day so long?" 

He shook his head again, shutting his eyes. "Holding ground, other players popping up," he huffed, running his fingertips down your spine affectionately. "Best if you not know more than that." 

...was he really trying to protect you? After all he'd done? 

You just wanted to go. You wanted to get over with whatever he was desiring, go back to your little boy, pour over your anatomy texts until fatigue took you; playing pretend in the arms of a dashing monster made you want the night over even quicker. 

Maybe you could kick him into action. 

Gingerly - as if you'd never done it before - you ran your hand up his arm, even squeezing the muscle of his shoulder. "U-um... what was it you wanted to do tonight...?" 

He moved his head back then, his brows knit in confusion. "What do you mean?" 

"You said you wanted to do something _else?_" You tried to come off sultry, but you were impatient. "W-what did you have in mind?" 

His swaying promptly stopped. The song came to an end, an unpleasant hum buzzed in your ears. He looked insulted. 

"...that's what you want then?" He was cold, colder than ever as his fingers dug in like claws; both gripped your upper arms, bruising your soft skin. You flinched in pain, your glass tumbling to the rug. "We were havin' a nice time, bein' sweet to one 'nother, and you're just itchin' to make a beeline for that door, is that right?"

_'Shit.'_ You'd overcompensated; and now you'd be paying for it. "That's not what I meant," you scrambled, fussing in his hold. "I-I just didn't-- I wanted to do what you want to do--" 

"Clearly not," he growled, his handsome face absolutely furious. He dropped his hands from you, only to begin unfastening his trousers. "On your knees." 

Now what he had in mind was all too apparent; yet on some level, you were still dumbstruck. "W-what?" 

"What're you, deaf, now? On your knees!" He was shouting now; with his considerable strength he shoved you down by your shoulders. The carpet did little to cushion the blow dealt by the hardwood underneath. You were eye-level with his undone fly, and the swelling beneath it, and dreading every oncoming second. "You want to be used? I'll fucking use you."

His dominant hand pulled his length free of his pants; you knew well he was large, but at this angle he was utterly enormous. Thick and long, his sex was a strangely pleasant pink with a violet vein pulsing on its underside. He ran his rough grip up and down once or twice, growing to his full size; before presenting the tip to you as if it were a reward. 

"Y-you can't be serious--!" You'd never done this - not even for Edgar. 

"You really want find out what happens if you don't?" He threatened back. His lesser hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, making you yelp; and with your mouth open, he fed the head of his manhood between your lips before you could react. "There ya _go_ \- that's what you wanted." 

It wasn't the worst taste - salty, fleshy, and the smell of him all too close - but you were nauseated all the same. You braced your hands on his hips, trying to push away, but with his control on your hair, he brought you down further, til he bumped the back of your throat. 

You could hardly breathe. Your jaw was stretched too wide, you couldn't bite down to scare him off, you were gulping in what air you could, and inadvertently massaging his shaft with your tongue. Tears were flooding down your cheeks now, something you knew he hated - but he completely ignored it. Every squirm or twist you tried had him knotting his fingers even tighter in your locks; any harder and he'd scalp you. 

When he started to thrust, you couldn't help but shriek; even though it hardly came out. 

"Never done this before, have ya?" He hummed, glancing down to your glassy eyes, and you shook your head as much as you could. You pushed your hands against his legs to let you free; but he just pulled you back down, listening to you gag. "Mm- good - 'bout time I was one of your 'firsts'." 

He seemed prideful, but you couldn't think on it - you could think on very little as spots began to fill your vision, your brain getting little air with his insistent abuse. Of all the ways to die - you couldn't have been more ashamed. 

It was only when your arms went slack that he pulled you back. You gasped in breaths like you'd been buried alive, sputtering and sobbing, clutching your throat. 

He decided then, he liked you even better breathless like this. 

He was close - and took up a rapid pace, stroking a vicious pace along his cock, keeping its head right on your bottom lip. "Keep your mouth open, you slut," you'd have argued, if not for the burning in your throat and the sheer terror of him. "Y-you're gonna get your fuckin' reward-- ah fuck--!" He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut, right on edge. 

You sniffled, whimpered; and struggled out a pathetic "Please..." 

And it was the sweetest music he'd ever heard. 

Streaks of shameful white painted your face, clouding one of your eyes, while his bitter seed dribbled into your mouth. You were shaking, sobbing in silence at the absolute horror above you. Tears whisked away his spend quick enough, but you could only see him more clearly; still squeezing at his slowly softening manhood, milking every last drop right between your lips. 

Why on earth was your mouth still open?

You snapped it shut, frantically reaching around to try and find that discarded glass to spit him out, but he gripped your jaw with his powerful mitt before you could. 

"Swallow it, Doc." His eyes were matching glaciers, staring down at you, as if you were nothing. On reflex alone, you forced his taste down your throat, praying you'd never have to do it again. You'd never felt so low. 

Steve, who should've been more relaxed, eased, seemed just as angry. Once he knew you'd drank him down, he practically threw you aside, sorting out his trousers again. "Get out," he commanded - and you shot to your feet. "I don't want to see you again 'til you're done your bleedin'." 

You'd never run so fast, taking the stairs two at a time, trying to force the trauma from your mind; not that you ever would. You'd always feel him, taste him in that way. Once within your attic, you checked on Billy; still asleep and blissfully unaware of all the shame and sin you'd fallen into that evening. 

You mopped your face with a handkerchief of yours, rubbing almost raw, trying to pull that warm, horrible sensation from your skin; but you'd never quite accomplish that either. That night, you went to sleep fully clothed, wracked with silent wails and sobs until sleep finally took you. Completely unaware of an empty whiskey bottle, and a record, smashed to bits a few floors below. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a turn! 
> 
> Kudos/comment if you liked it :) ♡♡♡


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kinda went off like a runaway train, but I hope ya like it! 
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> PinV intercourse  
Manipulation/collusion   
Feelings!?

It had been weeks since you'd stopped bleeding; but you hadn't offered Steve a single word since that awful night. 

Much like when you'd first moved in, you were avoiding him like the plague; you'd cloister yourself in the attic once Billy was sent off to school, you'd only come out to mend the wounded or see to Billy's dinner. Again, if you were seen, you were with your boy. 

The difference though, was that Steve let it happen. In fact, you hadn't seen him in days.

He was like a ghost in his own house. You'd caught glimpses of him from behind, or his pant leg just as he left a room; he was as intentional in not seeing you as you were with him. You pondered on his absence more than once - perhaps that evening had left a sour enough taste to leave you be - but you certainly didn't mind the respite. 

Billy, however, was forlorn. 

He was only a child - he didn't understand why he hardly ever saw Mister Steve anymore. Whenever he went near his office or what he guessed to be his bedroom, Nat, Bucky, or Sam were quick to usher him back to a common room. They'd give him smiles, tell him Steve was just busy, and couldn't be interrupted; but Billy was left feeling like he'd lost a friend. 

And he had no problem telling you that either. 

It was another night in the maid's kitchen, him at the table with crayons, and you preparing a stew like all was normal. You were just adding another handful of chopped carrots to the simmering stock when you felt Billy's tug on your skirt, taking your attention. When you turned, he just about broke your heart. 

In his little fists was clutched a drawing, a pair of rudimentary faces sporting wide grins. The smaller one was definitely Billy - he'd inherited your hair color - and there was only one answer to who the larger, blond haired, blue eyed head was supposed to be. 

"Oh sweetie," you tried to be cheery but you could see the sadness in him. "That's so lovely!"

He lowered his artwork, staring up at you with watery, hopeful eyes. "D'you think Mister Steve'll like it?" He murmured, shifting on his feet. "I wanted t'make 'im somethin', a-and say sorry." 

You crouched to his level, smoothing your hand over his hair. "Darling why would you be saying sorry?" 

He sniffled, and his lip started to quiver as he tried to be brave. "I think I made 'im mad a' me... I don't know what I did, though, but you," he was practically tearing your heart out. "You say that sayin' sorry is never bad, right?" 

You couldn't find a single word; what could you say? How could you tell him what was happening? There was no way to explain it - instead you wrapped him up in a tight hug, hiding your own tears from him as he finally whimpered and cried. 

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, love," your hand rubbing his back helped his soft sobs, your gentle voice making promises. "I'll talk to Steve, find out what's going on. I'm sure you've done nothing to upset him." 

He pulled back, rubbing at his eyes. "Will you give 'im my picture, please?" 

Your stomach twisted, but you took the slightly crumpled paper with a smile. "Absolutely I will." 

______________________

  
You felt no fear in your heart when your fist pounded on Steve's office door that same evening; all you had was anger. 

He was a monster, as you'd always suspected. You never wanted him near your son, but the blond devil had charmed Billy, made him think he was friendly, kind; and pulled the rug from under him as soon as you'd displeased him. You hated that with your whole being; manipulating your boy, leading him on. It would've been better had he never said a word to him at all. 

"Steve!?" You added a shout to your banging; unsure of whether he was even in his office. "I swear if you're there you'd better open up! I need to talk to you!!" 

Not a peep through the door - but you thought you heard a floorboard creak. 

"Coward," you muttered, fishing Billy's drawing from your pocket. "You're a real piece of work, Steve Rogers! My boy thought he'd found a friend in you," you bent at your waist, sliding the paper under the door. "I don't care what horrors you have in mind for me, but you're hurting my son now. He deserves better than that, and you know it!" 

Again, silence. You took it to mean he wasn't even in there. In a frustrated flurry you stormed off, up to your little loft to comfort Billy; while Steve knelt, and picked up the little crayon portrait. Slid into the office he was hiding in. 

"You'll have to talk to her at some point, Steve," Nat reasoned, watching her friend's shoulders slump, staring down at whatever she'd stuffed into the room. "Can't avoid a lady like that forever."

Steve sighed, drawing a thumb across the little round rendition of Billy's face. "I know." 

______________________

  
Days later, nothing had changed. 

You were furious, and even more so for being woken in the middle of the night, with barely a moment to throw on your robe, and brought down to the basement for stitching - one of their transporters had gone a few rounds in a knife fight. 

"Ah!" Sam - as he'd introduced himself - winced as you ran your needle through his flesh, his bicep bleeding just a bit more. He was lucky, most of the cuts had been superficial. He wasn't acting like it though. 

"Hush, you're fussing over nothing," you scolded. The wounds, cleaned well with vodka, wouldn't take long to heal. "I'm nearly done."

"Sorry, Doc," he muttered. Sam was rarely in town. He usually made a living as a smuggler and messenger for the Rogers' crime family; but he'd been called in on special business. "If - ow! - it counts, you're a hell of a lot better at this than the last quack Steve had in here." 

You flinched at his name, but went on with your sutures. "I just do what I know." You didn't want to imagine what had happened to the last 'doctor'. 

"Modest, too," he joked; but you were in no mood. You tied off the last stitch, snipping off the catgut. He still twinged when moving his arm, hoisting up his liquor to take a swig and numb the pain. "Thanks Doc! Feel right as rain." 

He hopped off the examination table like a new man, making for the stairway. "Wait! You need to know how to clean it!" 

"Keep it dry, don't jam my fingers in it! I'll be fine!" He shouted back as he ascended the stairs. You closed your eyes, annoyed. It seemed no man in this household ever listened. 

You still had some cleaning up to do, boiling your tools and getting them sterile for your next impromptu surgery. In the midst of wiping down your scissors, you barely heard the tumble of footsteps overhead; but you did hear the upper door open, and it made you spin, in time to see Steve falling down the stairs. 

It would've been satisfying if you weren't so petrified. 

He didn't notice your presence at first, dragging himself back up and glaring up the stairwell. "What the _fuck_, Romanoff!?" He snarled, making for the door again; which he found to be locked. "What the hell are you tryin' to pull!?"

"Go back down stairs and you'll find out!" she replied, pocketing the basement key. "You've got some shit to deal with!" 

Nat was never one to be swayed from her mission; even if her current one was a mystery to Steve. Resigned, he thumped his way back down with every step. 

And then he saw you, shaking like a leaf with your head held high - and he understood what Nat was trying to do. 

He had been doing all he could to avoid this moment - but there was none of that any longer. 

"Y/N," his voice was soft, far too gentle; the very tone was a lie to you. "I... I didn't expect you to be down here." 

You shivered all the same, but stood yor ground; even if you'd have given your life to be anywhere else. "One of your men - Sam - needed stitches." 

He was surprised to hear that; he didn't even know Sam was in town. But he wasn't going to dwell on that, he had other things to worry on. "I, uh... haven't seen you in a few days." 

_'Of course you haven't you scum!'_ Yor brain was near throbbing with anger, staring daggers into his skull. "Lots to do," you replied. "Not like you've come looking." 

He was taken aback, and took a step forward. "Didn't think you'd want me to." 

"I don't," you snapped, wishing you could back up further, but for the wall behind you. "I'm not asking for your attention." 

His brow rose. "You came lookin' for me a couple days ago," from his trouser pocket he produced Billy's artwork. It hadn't left his side. "Seemed you wanted my attention then." 

"You--! You were in there!?" You growled, finding the strength to step toward him. "You really are a coward, a bloody coward and a bastard, shunning my boy--" 

"You didn't want me around him in the first place!" He spit back, brandishing the sheet of paper. "And then you go and show me this? What game are you playing!?"

'Why did he even keep it?' You wondered - but didn't ask. "I'm not playing anything!! You're the one toying with a little boy, giving him hope, and now you've just abandoned him!" 

"I'm not his father!!" 

The walls reverberated with the smack you'd painted his face with. His head remained turned in shock as his cheek turned red; nobody had dared to strike him in years. 

"Don't you _dare_ think that I _ever_ wanted you as my son's father," you hissed, every syllable venomous. "You are the one who decided an innocent little boy wasn't worth your time once you'd had your fill of his mother." 

His teeth nashed in annoyance. It wasn't what he'd been trying to do; how could you have read it that way? "Do you... do you really think that's why I haven't seen you two?" 

You searched his face - you liked it better with your hand-shaped welt on it. "What more of a reason would there be?" 

He grimaced, studying the crayon work before meeting your eyes. He looked raw; surprisingly hurt. "I... that night didn't go like I'd planned." 

"Like you'd planned!?" You repeated his pathetic excuse, shaking now with anger. "Y-you use me like a doll, and then when I try and go along with your cockamamie desires, you treat me like trash! What plan would I have been dragged into otherwise!?" 

His blood was bubbling too; though not as hot as yours. "That night was a mistake, I'll admit that; when you tried to leave so fast, I took it out on you," his eyes narrowed, now peering down at your. "I am honestly sorry - but you haven't lead a half bad life since we got together."

"TOGETHER!?" You truly roared; a beast was storming inside of you. "We are _not_ together, Steve, nor were we ever!! You coerced me, you manipulated me into your immoral clutches--" 

"And didn't you make the best of it?" He cut you off, pointing to your makeshift surgical table. "That first night, didn't I make you come? Didn't I see you got yours first, and every time since?" 

Your mouth opened - then shut - then opened again. "I-I'm not thanking you for something I never wanted in the first place!" 

"Oh you little-- you wanted it, and I know you did," he radiated heat, enough so that you were sweating below your collar. "I felt that hot wet between your legs, and I know 'nough about ladies to know that ain't fakeable. You wanted me like I want you, n' now--" 

"Now what?" You growled, ready to smack him again.

But his face broke, brows turning up and his mouth ticking in... was that a tremble? 

"Now I've gone and fucked it all up," he rasped, his own hand shaking as it clutched the paper. "I was tryin'... I was tryin' to show you I can be sweet, like how a lady wants her man to be... and I fuckin' spoiled it." 

You blinked and thought back to that wretched encounter; or rather, how it'd felt swaying in his arms. It as uncomfortable, familiar. Warm. 

"You were... you were trying to court me." It wasn't a question, as much as it was an answer. The despairing, honest look he gave you only confirmed it. 

"And I made you--" He bit back the words. He had hardly been able to think of what he'd done, much less voice it. "I was givin' you space; I sure as hell didn't deserve seein' you, or your boy for awhile." 

"He thinks you hate him," you hastily steered the conversation back to your wronged son. "You cut a child out like that, he's just going to think you don't want to see him. I don't care if you don't see me--" 

"I care," he piped up, doing something bizarre - he took your hand. "I care when I don't see you." 

You gawked at him, at his beautiful, sincere, tortured face. Your heart twisted with sympathy. He'd put you through six kinds of hell; but, devil that he was, he was charming. 

"What do you want from me?" You breathed. You were shaking again; but couldn't guess why. 

He sighed, lifting your hand in his, learning every line and scar. "I want t'go back to that first night, down here," boldness took him, brushing his lips against your knuckles. "I want this sick feeling in my belly to leave me, whenever I think of you but can't see or touch you. I want you t'forget that night ever happened... go back to just doin'." 

He'd said those words to you that first time, 'just do' - and you'd fallen down a rabbit hole of corruption and promiscuity. You were hardly at all the woman you'd been before Steve Rogers. 

But then, you had kissed him first. Were you simply learning what kind of woman you truly were? 

"Why would I dare to let you near me after what you did?" You wouldn't falter to those dashing blues so easily; but you didn't quite have an answer for yourself, either. You were hand in hand at that moment, after all. "Why couldn't you have just let me go?" 

"Darlin' we've been over this," you weren't pushing him away, so he squeezed your hand in his. "You're part of this family now; and damn near indispensable too. I can't let you go; and I can't stop thinkin' of you like how I do, either." 

"You could still let us go," you countered. "We could go back to our lives--" 

"No, doll," he shook his head, speaking sweetly. "You know well as I do that all of Brooklyn knows you live here. They know you're one of my... staff," he chose the word carefully. "You wouldn't have nowhere to go if you ever turned tail." 

You'd been dancing around that fact - but to hear it put so plainly, he was right. You were part of his wicked world. One of them. "So you've trapped me?"

"Not how I'd put it," he shrugged a shoulder. "We've welcomed you, haven't we? Your boy is happy, you're livin' well. And you're..." a boyish, knowing smirk played shortly on his mouth. "makin' the best of it." 

You couldn't help a coloring of your cheeks at that - he *was good. Regardless of the monster inside him, he'd opened your eyes to a cacophony of pleasures, and hard as you tried, you couldn't go back to being blind. 

He was still gazing down at you, expectant, apologetic - but most of all, eager. You hated being under his stare - it changed you, into someone you didn't know. 

"Why me?" 

It was a question he had answered before - under the haze of sex - but you needed to know more. Why were you the one he sought so hungrily? It was about more than your body, or simply a conquest; some underlying truth that drove him back every time. 

Steve took another chance, running a hand through your hair - again, you didn't pull away. "Because you screamed at a butcher," he chuckled at your bewildered expression. "You're as fierce as I am; lured me in, didn't it... and whether you like it or not, there's a beast in you too, and I wanted it - I still want it." 

When had you begun breathing so hard? In your confusion and questioning, he'd drawn closer to you, his mouth inches from yours. The tips of his whiskers tickled your skin, sending little jolts through your being. 

When had your hands found purchase on his arms, for that matter? 

Your tongue flicked over your lips and his eyes grew darker. His ability to decimate your resolve was astonishing. You were hanging on by a thread - soon to break. 

"I... I thought you didn't like to be called a beast." 

He smiled - slipping your son's drawing back in his pocket, to free his arm to wrap around your middle. "You're allowed to call me that. Nobody else." 

He instigated the kiss this time, but it felt altogether different - he was soft, gentle, licking against your lips and within like a guest, no clicking of teeth or biting your flesh. 

It had you breathless for entirely new reasons. 

At first you clung to him, lost in this strange, repentant Steve and his sweet kisses - but your better angels still drew you back, panting, hanging on to him just to stay on your feet. 

"We can't," you panted, with little resolve. "W-we can't just go back to what you were doing-- its changed now, I'm changed--" 

"Please, doll," he begged, both hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs stroking your skin. "Baby, I've been needing you so badly - can't I show you how I missed you? How sorry I am?" 

You wanted to say no - but you desperately wanted him to kiss you again, too. "I-I'm not going back to being some toy that you fuck whenever you feel like." 

"Then I won't fuck you," he promised, feathering kisses across your face, teasing at your jaw. "I swear. Let me show you, Y/N; let me love on ya." 

You didn't have a second to consider the implications of his words; he was kissing you again, and your mind was floating off. This time you met him in kind, your arms coiling his neck, letting him in as he dipped you low, lower, til you hit the floor. 

A scream nearly bubbled up when your knees hit tile, but he stilled you with hushes, as he came to his knees with you. 

"Even ground, doll face," he whispered. He let go of you, only to start working on the buttons of his shirt. "It's only fair, yeah?" 

As he pulled off his shirt, exposing the well worked muscles beneath, something occurred to you. In all your encounters, you'd never been bare before each other; but as he hurriedly shuffled out of his trousers and shorts, you came to realize he was attempting to change that. 

For a moment, nerves made you freeze - but his eager eyes on you as he shed his final layers seemed to wipe that apprehension away. With light hands, slow and coaxing, he untied the sash of your robe. He felt like a different person, though you were accustomed - and fond - of the gorgeous creature who regarded you with awe as he pulled away your clothing to leave you bare. 

"Christ," he breathed. You weren't shy before him, not bothering to cover an inch of fat or a roll; you didn't feel the same fear you had, weeks ago. "Good God, you're a sight, Y/N." 

You shook your head, huffing out a breath. "I'm already nude, Steve, you don't need to go on babbling." 

"Oh I do, I really do," he insisted, pulling you tight to him, your softness contouring to the hard plains of his physique. "Mm... it was torture not to touch you; every fuckin' inch of you," he was brazen, punctuating his phrase while kneading you ample backside. "An absolute gift, I swear." 

You'd have protested if his mouth hadn't fallen to yours again, hungrier then, more devoted. Cautiously, you touched his shoulder blades, the thick cords of muscle that twitched and moved as his own hands roamed your flesh. 

It was enough to get any woman excited - and all he wanted was you. That much was clear as his hips rocked against your belly, his sex rock solid and insistent. 

Your nerves flared again. 

"I-I really don't know if I can do this right now," you knew the gamble you were taking, pausing his carnal actions; but you hoped he'd be lenient. "After last time..." 

"Let's not think about last time," he pressed coddling kisses across your cheeks, meeting your eye. "You don't even got t'touch it, doll; I won't even buck, neither." 

Your brows knit, unsure of his meaning. "What?" 

He smiled, before rearranging himself onto his ass, legs stretched out on either side of you. "Want you to ride me, baby." 

_'Oh--!'_ Now that, you'd never managed. 

"I don't think I should," you were moving to stand when he clasped your hands. "I don't want to hurt you, n' I'm not sure how to... how to do it."

"You won't hurt me," he said with total confidence. "It's so easy; I'll show you how to get on... then you use me, honey." 

You swallowed an empty mouthful, ignoring the tiny voice in you saying you couldn't, and nodded. With his guidance, he maneuvered you til you were knelt over his hips, the tip of his manhood bumping against your folds; you noticed his smug smirk, finding you wet. Certain parts he'd never be able to hide. 

"There you are," he cooed, smoothing his fingertips across your hips, aligning himself with your entrance. He hissed at the sensation and shuddered, but wouldn't do more. "You're all set, gorgeous. Slide on down when you're ready." 

There wasn't any shot at you ever being ready - but something animal inside of you was incredibly eager to try. Your mouth opened little by little as you lowered, the intense stretch less uncomfortable than it'd ever been with him; under your control, it was sheer pleasure. 

Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders when you settled, already hazy and panting; and true to his word, he didn't thrust up. Much like the first time, he was reaching new depths; but through simple gravity the pressure on said spots was nigh overwhelming. 

You'd yet to budge, your eyes shut with your lips agape, fully embracing such a feeling of _fullness_ \- almost forgetting Steve below you, fighting his every instinct to fuck you like an animal. 

"B-Baby," he muttered, massaging firmly at your bottom. "You feel like a goddamn angel, but if you don't start movin' I'm gon'na blow my stack right now." 

Your eyes barely opened - the warm rapture mixing with your fatigue - but you began to move, slowly, uncertain, up and down, flexing your thick thighs to spur your movements. It wasn't long before you realized every new jolt was that much more exciting, that it would set your veins alive with electricity. 

"S-see? You didn't need my help," he cooed, still guiding your hips with feather light fingers, deciding how your body would fall on him. "You're doin' just fine on your own." 

"Sure--" you groaned, your eyes rolling back as his head dipped forward, his mouth seeking and mapping the pulse of your throat. You thought perhaps you felt him twitch - but you were moving so fast, who could say? "I'll try not to crush you..." 

He traced his tongue up the wedge of your jaw, eyes almost black under his sweat speckled brow. "Darlin', if I'm lucky enough to die under ya', I'll be counting my blessings til the devil's doorstep." 

A heat in you flared again; and something else roared in praise. A familiar coil was tightening, your muscles cramping in the best ways. "S-Steve," you murmured, unsure of his place in the race; but he'd said to use him, after all. "F-fuck, so... nearly there...!" 

"I'll help ya, doll," he grinned, moving one hand to his mouth to wet his fingers, before sliding down, finding that berry-pink pleasure center. Your gasp told him he had the right spot. "That's it, ain't it? Lady like you, wants somethin' extra special." 

Steve wrapped around you like a thick fog, all around you and inside you, his lips, tongue, hand, sex. What monster lived in him that let him charm you, twist you so completely? You didn't think about it; willfully ignoring his bites, his hips pumping, only feeding the beast inside you screaming _'More!More!More!!'-- _

You screamed his name when your climax hit; and the basement door unlocked. 

People had been listening. 

Nails raked down his back, marring his splendid skin as he brought you up and over that delicious precipice, and he cheered his victory in his heart. Had he not just won you over, he'd have gladly spent inside your warmth, having another go; but his luck was fully pushed. He pulled you up slightly, your walls still spasming as he let loose, his built up seed across your folds and oversensitive bud. That sight of you, coated in him; that'd hold him til the next time. 

When you finally came around, your brain clearing, you didn't feel the same dread you had in past encounters; you couldn't name what exactly it was you were feeling. You knew you were still in Steve's lap, his eyes sparkling and proud. His arms still held you close, stroking your back like a pet, calming your breath. He was still everywhere; and he didn't pull away the moment he'd got his. 

Your heart twitched. 

"That was a trip to Heaven," Steve huffed a breathless laugh, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. "You're a saint, Y/N, a saint puttin' up with a devil like me." 

His prideful words felt strange on your skin. "Y-you should know, you're not off the hook," your no-nonsense attitude popped back up. "You make things right with Billy, or--" 

"I will, first thing in the morning," he swore, hugging you close, placing a chaste kiss on your mouth. "I will... for right now, let's go on workin' on us." 

_'Us.'_ There was, at that moment, no 'us' to speak of for the pair of you; but as he nestled into your shoulder, you didn't feel half so bad about the idea. 

His face tucked away, Steve cracked a smile; he couldn't believe you'd bought it. 

You were his; and you weren't going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What're the lies!? What's the truth!? Not to worry; more to come. 
> 
> Kudos or comment if you like!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The doctor is put to the test. 
> 
> Warnings:  
Surgery  
Angst  
Fluff  
Cock-warming  
Nocturnal emissions

Everyone knew the name Stark - criminal and law-abiding folk alike. It was a safety issue. 

The Stark family had come to New York some years ago with nothing - and proceeded to turn every mob outfit on their heads, cementing themselves in a flash as top dogs. Their patriarch, Howard Stark, took up headquarters in Manhattan, having the highest floor of the Chrysler building converted into private rooms for him and his family. From there he'd kept a keen eye on all below him, ensuring no uprisings and reminding all those staring up that there was always the threat of him coming down. 

Howard had been a businessman, staunch and ruthless and calculating - but he would die, and pass the family business along to his only son, Anthony Stark. 

And he was a whole other sack of cats. 

Anthony - Tony - Stark inherited a sharp mind and ruthlessness from his father, but little else. He went big - on retaliations, on protection rackets, on moving illegal contraband - on everything. He struck new deals, investing in major, risky ventures, and from time to time wiped out upstarts if they got in his way. He had one goal - to hold New York in his iron fist, by any means necessary. 

And for the most part, the crime families of the five Burroughs hung their heads and bowed to his will. The Hammers and the Staynes had already fallen to Tony, and his ever changing mind was volatile and unpredictable. Nobody wanted to take their chances.

Well, nearly nobody. 

Steve had struck a deal with Howard when he was a young up-and-comer, for Brooklyn's sovereignty in exchange for protection and a cut of their own business - ten percent. It had always been ten percent; up until Tony called Steve up and told him rates would be increasing to twenty. 

It sent Steve into a rage - and the Rogers and the Starks had been at odds ever since. 

So it really didn't surprise you when Steve was shot. 

_____________________

You got the call in the middle of the night, and you were in action. You had a young maid girl watch over Billy as you raced down to the basement, beginning your preparations. The message left said they were 10 minutes out - more than enough time to set up for a surgery, if your damn hands would just stop their shaking. Scalpels, catgut silk, needles and patches and tapes and gauze. Loads of towels. You thanked your lucky stars that Sam had procured a bottle of ether for you the week before. You'd need it, by the sounds of it. 

Amidst shouts and groans, Steve was carried down to your makeshift theater, blood drenched and hardly conscious. You blanched, seeing his usually warm skin such a deathly white, dotted with sweat as his body tried to repair what it couldn't on its own. 

"On the table!" You found your voice ordering around Bucky and Dugan, who held their boss aloft. "Lay him out, get me scissors!" Almost like magic they appeared in your hand, as Steve was placed gingerly on the bloodied wood surface. You tugged and snipped and cut away his clothes - he'd care less later, assuming you could save his life. 

What you found had your heart racing and your blood cold - he had two major entry wounds. One at his side, another above his collar bone, both pumping out red stuff with every beat of his pulse. The holes were precise, not too unwieldy; but two at once would be a challenge to the most practiced physician. 

And you were just... you. 

"Can you save him?" Bucky's broken question pulled you out of your shock, meeting his sea colored eye. He looked terrified. "Please, save him Doc." 

Dugan echoed the same, as did Dernier, Natasha, Sam - how had you missed your little surgery filling with gangsters? Had Steve's state really entranced you so? 

There wasn't time to consider it - there was hardly time at all. 

"I need you all out; too many people will be a distraction," you were sharp and firm, setting up your tray of instruments by Steve's legs. Uncorking the ether, you handed it and a sponge to Bucky, who'd stuck himself right by Steve's head. "You stay, Mr.Barnes; I'll need you to administer that as I say, understand?" 

While the gang filtered out in disorderly fashion, Bucky nodded dumbly, taking the anaesthetic from you - just as Steve's eyes barely blinked, awareness bubbling up. 

"B-Buc--" he garbled, coughing up a fleck or two of blood - better than gushing, you thought. "Buck--Doc..." 

"Shh," he hushed his childhood friend and leader, soaking the sponge in the anaesthetic. "She's right here, Steve, she's gon' get you fixed," he nodded, flicking up to your nervous face. "You're gon' be fine, you punk, just don't pull anythin' stupid." 

He placed the sponge over Steve's mouth and nose, and in a few breaths he was delirious and passing out once more. The ether would keep him calm, and hopefully numb - the cutting wouldn't be easy. 

The larger priority was the wound at his side; you needed to find out if organs had been struck. You tossed Bucky a clean towel, demanding he place pressure at the upper shot, which he did. You wedged your hand beneath Steve's back, feeling around; sighing in relief. An exit hole - you wouldn't be fishing out bullet fragments. Gauze was the next thing in your hand, packing the exit wound tighter, tighter, tighter - full, now intense pressure. With your hopes and skill that would stop the bleeding. 

The entry shot was small - but enough room for you. Carefully, as gently as you could, you wriggled your finger inside - Steve groaned in response. More ether. Your mind focused on what you were feeling, what you'd learned in your books - from your best estimation, his organs were intact.

Sulfonamides next - it'd be clean, at least. 

Now came the stitching. 

With pressure and gauze, the bleeding ceased; enough so you could thread your needle, preparing his skin. He'd sport a notable scar there for the rest of his life; but the wound came together with ease, cinched and packed and taped. The same done to his back, with slight maneuvering. 

You thought you'd be doing much the same at his trapezius - only to find there was no exit wound. 

The bullet was still nestled in his meat. 

As you cut the wound further, Steve protested in his haze. Bucky clapped the sponge over his mouth again, openly crying as you sliced through flesh and muscle; wide enough to get your fingers in. Your patient still squirmed as you felt around; flesh, flesh, bone, tendon... metal. You were panting yourself now, drawing up a set of tweezers, ordering Buck to hold him down and still. 

Twist, pull, nudge and tug. 

The bullet came free, a tight little wedge of iron - uniform, not made for obliteration. You considered that as you packed the hole, sopping up the wider cut, pressing, packing, pressing - when the gauze turned pink instead of red, you took up your stitch again. This scar would be far more gruesome - if it had the chance to heal. 

Steve's breath was shallow, but it was there. Bucky was sobbing at his side, muttering things in that foreign tongue. Dazed and all too overwhelmed, you slumped to the floor, holding your head in your hands. The cutting was over - the healing would be an uphill battle. 

______________________

"Why isn't he awake yet?" 

It had been 48 hours; and Steve's inner circle was coming for you with pitchforks. 

You'd hardly left his side, at their behest (threat). You'd check his vital signs, still breathing, eyes still active under shut lids. You'd clean his wounds and change his dressings, no sign of infection, no fever, no shakes. He was a model patient - aside from still being asleep. 

Nat was glaring at you accusingly, not knowing the extent of your relationship with her boss. She didn't put it past you to somehow poison or infect Steve while he was weak, as a means to escape. His others, his beloved Commandos, looked just as fierce at her back, ready to draw blood. 

Bucky was the only one who stood by you; he'd been at Steve's side just as much as you. 

He narrowed his eyes at Nat, stepping between the pair of you. "I was there, she did everything she could," he argued, casting his arm to Steve, laid up in his bed. "He was shot, Nat; he should be resting." 

"There's resting and there's comatose," she spat, glaring fiercely away. In a lowered breath a different tongue spouted from her lips._** "Yey nuzhno idti. Ona ne prinadlezhit zdes' s etim synom--"**_

_**" Zatknis'!"** _Whatever language it was, it matched Bucky's secret ramblings._** "Ty khochesh' igrat' v bossa? Tak vy ob yasnite yemu, pochemu vy soslali yego dragotsennogo pitomtsa,"** _she balked at his words, whatever they were. **_"On zhivet iz-za neye. Ne mogli by vy sdelat' to zhe samoye?"_**

"P-please," you spoke up before their bickering could worsen. "I know that this is frightening, but every sign points to healing. He's doing so well--" 

"Then why doesn't he wake and say that himself!?" Dugan was furious, but clearly scared. 

"His body went through incredible pains and trauma," you kept you voice even, hoping it was warm. "Better he still be breathing in uncertainty than definitely dead." 

Nat was quick to speak again. "I swear if you've done something to him--" 

"I've done nothing but try to save him!" Even you were surprised by the indignation in your tone. "I've done all I can, and will continue to do so. I care for him too," you admitted. "And I will do all that's in my power to see him wake." 

Who knew what would happen to you if he didn't. 

______________________

  
"Is Steve alright, mamma?" Billy's wide and wondering eyes peered up from your lap, as you rocked him absently. After another 2 days, there was little change; and your boy wanted to see his friend. 

"He's tired, darling," you cooed - you were exhausted yourself. Hardly sleeping in the rocking chair by his bed, waking intermittently to check on him. Barely seeing your son was just as much a detriment. "He got hurt, and he needs to rest til he's better." 

He leaned against your chest, still gogging at the comatose giant. "You fixed 'im?" 

You nodded slowly, your eyes drooping. "I did," your hand brushed over Billy's unruly hair. "But this battle is his own. I can only do so much." 

You'd tried hard not to think of all that would happen if Steve didn't pull through, but with your son in your lap, it all came barreling into your mind. You'd be kicked out, surely, if not killed; and even then, where could you go? You were a gangster's sawbone. You'd never have legitimacy again. 

Your personal feelings were something entirely different. 

"Who hurt him?" Billy was, understandably, full of questions. He'd been too young to understand his father's passing, but with Steve seemingly on the brink, he couldn't stop asking. "Did he get in a fight?" 

You considered the story you'd heard - Stark's men were infringing on the Brooklyn borders, destroying a few local businesses just to flex some muscle. Steve had personally gone out when an issue of rabble rousing was reported, his lackeys in tow. There were words, then fists. Then a gun. It was wondered if the shooter was just a bad shot to have not nicked anyone else in the chaos, but to have only hit the head of the family was too good of a coincidence. It all sounded a bit flowery to you; but it all ended with Steve laid up in that bed. 

"A little fight," you smoothed over the true details, sparing his young heart. "Steve is too stubborn to walk away, sometimes." 

Billy didn't say a word for awhile after that. There was just the rock of the chair, and Steve's quiet, even breathing. Even with his injuries, he looked more peaceful than he ever did in his day to day life.

"I hope he's okay, mamma." 

"I hope so too, sweetie." 

You really did. 

You sent Billy off to school shortly thereafter, escorted by that same young maid. The room seemed even quieter with him gone; just left to you and Steve. Bucky had been called away, urgent business to attend to; he'd not have left otherwise. You were grateful for the peace, but even being there with Steve's unconscious body had you feeling tense.

Seeing him so close, so still, it allowed you to notice little things about him that were imperceptible. The lines that creased his brow, the slight crooks in his nose that made you wonder if he'd broken it once. His skin was warm under the incandescent light, already littered with tiny hints of scars, all far faded from years when he was still scraping his way to the top. Even when you checked his pupilary reaction, you'd noticed flecks of green interwoven with his cerulean blues. It warmed you somehow; like you'd learned a secret hid in plain sight. 

Of course, it'd mean nothing if he never woke. 

Like he was barely sleeping, you reached out tentatively to brush his forearm, test his pulse; still there, still even. Your hand lingered. All he'd done, the promises he'd made, the words he'd given just to you... all of it would amount to nothing if you lost him. 

_'If he dies,'_ you corrected yourself. _'He's no more mine than I am his.'_ Even you knew that was a lie. 

Your eyes flicked to his face; still at rest, soft but unyielding. You found yourself moving; though it didn't feel like your own will. At the edge of your seat, your spine stretched, and your forehead leaned into the curve of his temple, barely touching; but your skin on fire. 

"Steve," your voice wasn't even a whisper, just a breath across his flesh. Your vision focused on the pillow beneath his head, unsure of what you were doing. "Steve, I hope you can hear me." 

Silence, of course, followed. Your fingers threaded with his. 

"I've done the lion's share, here," your free hand traced the edge of the bandage at his shoulder, clean and crisp. "I can see you healing, your heart beats... why won't you wake?" 

He breathed on, a steady sign of life. 

"My bacon's cooked, if you don't wake up," you went on, squeezing his hand. You didn't know why. "Your friends are scared... and they're gangsters, so they don't get scared, but you're scaring them. If you'd just wake up." 

Nothing yet, but the twitch of a muscle or two. 

"We need you up and around," you begged, though you'd never admit to that. "They need you. So... so it's time to get up," with a sigh, you pressed a peck against his cheekbone. "Please." 

When he shifted you nearly screamed. 

And when his eyes opened, you yelped. 

"Doc," his voice was rusted and tired, out of practice. "Sittin' vigil, are we?" 

"Fuck," you cursed, disbelief painting your face; you prayed you weren't dreaming. You whisked away your hand from his, grabbing up a cup of water from his bedside table. "H-Here, drink this." 

The water was sweet down his throat, warming up his speech and softening his rasp. "Knew you'd fix me up," he huffed a laugh into a cough. "Knew it." 

"Hush," you ordered, your medical training taking over. You pulled at his eyelids, watching for changes in his pupils as he fussed. "What's your full name?" 

"What?" 

"Just say it; need to make sure your brain's working." 

"For God's sake-- Steven Grant Rogers." 

"What year is it?" 

"1946." 

"And who's president?" 

"Fuckin'-- ah, Truman," he hissed as he went to move his arm, his wound still biting. "Happy?" 

You sucked your bottom lip in and blinked back tears of relief. You clasped shaking hands and took what felt like your first breath in days. "Yes," you spoke as evenly as possible, though you felt like passing out. "I'll go and get the boys. They'll be happy to see you." 

"N' you?" He queried before you could leave. "You happy t'see me?" 

You paused, but simply scoffed and hurried onto the door. "I'm glad I didn't kill you." 

______________________

The house came alive as Steve woke, it's inhabitants heralding him like an homecoming hero. His room was soon crowded with his top lackeys, all congratulating him and cheering him for pulling through. They dragged in anything they could give, beer, liquor, fruit, meat, breads, whatever they had to celebrate him. Even Nat cracked a smile, standing in the corner. 

With Bucky's help, Steve was propped up on his pillows, a sling tied around his arm and shoulder to keep from pulling stitches. He'd smile, eat a bite or two of food, and nod to his friends. He tried to match the energy of the room, but he was still exhausted. 

Moreover, he was angry. He'd been shot. 

Plans of revenge, taking down the Stark family for good whirred through his mind, venom coursing in him and fueling his hate. He hadn't been so injured in so long; and according to the outside world, he was off worse. 

"They think you're dead," Bucky muttered in hushed tones, while Jim and Dernier set up his vitrola. "That's the rumor goin' around; Steve Rogers is pushin' up daisies, care of one Tony Stark." 

His nostrils flared at the name of his enemy, but he nodded. "Let them think I'm on ice, then," he decided. "Hell, go hire a hearse, bury an empty coffin; I want that bastard to be shittin' himself when I come back from the dead." 

Bucky smiled, but there was sadness there. "Still too dumb to walk away from a fight," it was a jibe only he could deal to Steve. "Some things never change." 

Steve grinned in response. "Why change perfection?" 

You heard the tunes of Sinatra wafting up from Steve's impromptu party, but you didn't go to visit. You sat up in your attic, finally alone, crying out silent tears. 

______________________

  
When the liveliness finally calmed, and the happy criminals of the Rogers house went off to sleep, it was well into the night. You'd received Billy from school, fixed him dinner, and put him to bed while dodging questions about Steve, the roaring laughter and music in his room. You'd promised he'd get to see him tomorrow; once he was feeling best. 

You were alone with Steve again. Hardly even speaking.

"Didn't see ya at my little to-do earlier," he remarked - you knew he would. You didn't respond, just continued cleaning the stitches at his side. "You were missed." 

Your brows bounced at that and you shook your head, readying a fresh dressing for the wound - he was healing well. "I'm sure your pals more than made up for it."

He shrugged his good shoulder. "Yeah, but they aren't my type," his gaze drooped down your body, dressed leisurely for the end of the day; but not sleep wear. "Buck was tellin' me that you never left m'side." 

"Neither did he," you cut a fresh square of gauze. "Are you about the jeer him over his undying affection, too?" 

"Not at all, Doc," he smirked, watching you dress his injury with marked precision. "But he's not the one plantin' kisses on me while I'm out cold now, is he?" 

You froze for a split second, clearing your throat and hoping he didn't notice. He'd been conscious enough for that, it'd seem. "Don't know what you're on about, Steve." 

"Right," his face eased into a wry smile, inspecting you as you finished his bandaging. "You weren't the least bit worried or nothin', not a chance." 

"Of course I was worried," you spoke hastily, clearing away your scissors and tweezers. "I'm your doctor, I care if you die or not." 

"And you do take such good care o'me," he purred, shifting slightly his spot, legs stretching. "Maybe you could take care o'somethin' else too." 

You didn't catch his meaning, until he reached with his good arm and squeezed at his growing bulge beneath the covers. "Steve!! You're in no state!!" 

"That's your _only_ reason, then?" He grinned under his slightly unkempt whiskers. "I'm sure I can manage, doll." 

"As your doctor I can confidently say you can't!" You turned away hurriedly, shoveling your belongings into your medic bag. "You're liable to tear a stitch, start bleeding again, overwork yourself, throw a blood clot--" 

"Then how 'bout you just sit on it?" Your face was aflame, shaking your head vigorously at the proposal. He pouted, massaging himself through his blanket. "A man's got needs, don't he?" 

You sputtered, actively forcing yourself to stare at his face than let your eyes drip down. "Then just... take care of it yourself," your thighs rubbed together as you should, fighting back your urges. "I'm-I'm not... prepared..." 

"Oh sweetheart," he murmured, letting go of his package to draw back his covers; clad in just loose flannel sleeping pants and his bandages, he was a sight. "Y'mean you're not wet enough t'take me? I can fix that." 

You were aghast as he worked his length free with one hand, jutting up against his stomach, proud and needy and insistent. "P-put that away! I'm going up to bed--" 

"--and leave me by my lonesome? What if I tear a stitch?" He mocked. His breath caught as he ran his fist from base to tip, relieving that hungry throb for a moment. "I'm deprived, Y/N; I haven't been inside you for near five days, and it's drivin' me mad." 

You swallowed thick, cursing the fact that his little show was having an effect on you. "S-Steve, you're going to hurt yourself!" 

"But you won't," his hand picked up speed, squeezing his head and making him grunt. "You'd never hurt me, no; all I want's to be all snug in that warm, wet heaven. Want you gushin' around me, baby, don't you want that?" 

Your knees were knocking with nerves, and want. You swept up your medical bag, turning to run before he could cut the last strings of resistance in you. "I have to go--" 

"Please?" The broken tone in his voice made you stop. When you looked back, you saw Steve more raw and open than ever. His hand had stilled, just grasping, but he was starving, begging for you in his eyes. "I feel like a corpse, layin' here. Please... let me feel like a man again. Help me feel alive." 

Your bag hit the floor. Was it not your charge, to help him feel better? 

His smile was soft but his eyes feral as you approached him again, halting at his bedside, by his hips. "What do you want me to do?" 

He took up his stroke, reaffirming his hardness. "Just climb on top and slide on down," how did he make such lurid words so inviting? Your hands twisted, fidgeted, nerves still knotting away. "Y'won't hurt me, doll. I just need t'feel you." 

A long breath out and shut eyes; your hands rose to the buttons of your dress, slow and shaky as you slid it away. The shift beneath it, in dusted rose, would stay, you decided. 

"God you're beautiful," you'd never grow used to him saying it, staying focused on your task as you slipped free from your house shoes, then reaching up below the shift to pull away your undergarments. He noticed the wet spot there as they rolled down. "Fuckin' stunnin', you saintly thing." 

"Always with the talking," you'd never moved so cautiously as to when you straddled over him. "If it hurts, this stops." You were keenly aware of your knee, just inches from his lower wound, how you couldn't grab his shoulder for support or you'd be stitching him up again. And of course, you were quite tuned to the kiss of his sex against yours. 

"I swear I'll tell ya so," he promised, steadying himself as the first inch slid within you. For a moment, he saw heaven. "F-fuck, I swear it." 

He'd filled you countless times now, on his own accord and yours, but you'd always find yourself shivering and twitching at that stretch, the fullness only he had ever provided. You weren't as shy as you once were; you even allowed a moan out as you took in his shaft at its widest. 

It seemed those earlier words of his had done their job. 

You gasped as your hips met his, a telltale squelch from between your legs making known you were snugly fit together. A hiss escaped his lips, and you tightened up - mostly in worry. 

"Have I hurt you?" You prompted, eyes dancing across his wounds, his muscles, his ecstatic face. "Am I too much?"

"Never," he whispered, his chest heaving in long, timed breaths. "You feel so good... 'm tryin' not to bust inside ya like some virgin." 

Your face flushed once more, but you felt awkward atop him. You dared not move, lest his body be overcome, and he'd already promised not to. "What... what should I be doing now?" 

He smirked up at you, the hand his good arm sliding up to your hip. "Now you just keep me inside you," he gave a tug with his fingers, beckoning you down. "And c'mere. Rest on me... remind me my blood's still pumpin'." 

Yet another seemingly impossible task. More gingerly still, you arranged yourself across his torso, as if he were a bed himself. Your channel stretched with the new angle, sending your eyes rolling back and cusses from his mouth before you finally found steadiness; your arms around him, gently, your head leant into the crook of his neck and his good shoulder. His jugular pulsed against your nose. 

"Perfect," he praised, his healthy arm wrapping tight around your middle. His own eyes shut, overwhelmed in just the way he wanted, while he pressed kisses to your forehead. "Exactly... what I need." 

He'd always been a talent in wrapping around you, in filling the very air with him; but pulled tight to his chest, his warmth radiating against you, inside you, it was near insanity to bear it. You inhaled sharply each time his manhood twitched, his biology demanding more friction; yet he didn't act on it. 

He simply filled you. Totally, completely. 

"Thank you, Y/N." He murmured, his voice thick with a fuzzy warmth and fatigue. His eyes were fluttering shut, satisfied and floating. 

"I-I'm just sitting here," you breathed as if more noise might hurt him. "Still don't see how it's helping..." 

"Not just this," he flexed his groin slightly, making you yelp - he grinned. "You saved my life. Stitched me up and put me back together again. Even woke me with a kiss like a damn Disney picture." 

You cracked a small smile at that; Snow White was a favorite of yours. "I did what you hired me to do, Steve." 

He held you tighter, his lips against your skin as he spoke. "You do more," all of his demons were screaming for him to thrust, pin you down, make you scream for him; but he was delighted to lounge in your fervent intimacy. "You do so much more... I'm never not gonna' need you, doll." 

Your own mind was slowing with its own exhaustion, your body happy to dose with this beast; it didn't allow you to think of how possessive that statement was. God help you, you nuzzled into him, breathing in his scent; somehow intoxicating, even undercut with blood and sterile gauze. 

"You're mine," he vowed, drawing patterns across your skin. "I can never lose you." 

You'd have responded, had you not fallen into a restful sleep. He was soon to follow, dreaming of a conquered New York, a dead Tony Stark; and you. 

Even without a climax, you were eager to find refuge in his arms. 

But through his sleep, he couldn't hold back forever. A stickiness between your thighs held testament to that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot of pieces at play now, hopefully the game is still interesting for all of you ♡♡ comment or kudos if you like! Mwah~~
> 
> (If you're curious, Bucky and Natasha are speaking Russian ;) )


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing; but what?
> 
> Warnings:
> 
> Smut  
Alluded somnaphilia  
Angst  
Feelings  
Drama 
> 
> SHMOOPY FLUFF!?

He was superhuman - that was the only way to explain the boundless energy Steve seemed to garner overnight. 

That, or revenge. 

With your dutiful eye watching his quickly healing injuries, Steve started whipping his men into shape. As per his order, every man who claimed himself a Rogers' family member was on high alert and tight lipped about any goings on at his headquarters. And plenty was going on - by his hand, his racketeering business was booming, casual hits and beatings were carried out with anonymous precision, and new friends were being made. Still not ready to leave the building - as was your medical opinion - Steve had new prospects come to him. All manner of New York's underbelly came crawling through his doors, often after dark, the house teeming with life. 

Steve would have Tony Stark dead, and New York under him; no matter what deal had to be struck to get there. For the most part, he was encouraged and cheered by his compatriots; but for you, every new face brought dread and worry to your day to day life. 

It would be one thing, to a kill a mob doctor; they weren't exactly indispensable, any old quack could be bought or threatened. A mob doc wouldn't invite assassination, and live fairly anonymously. But Steve Rogers' own precious paramour? 

A target painted on the back of your head would be less tempting. 

Despite your better judgement over the oncoming fiasco, you didn't shy from him as you once did. After that night, coiled up in his arms, things had felt different; something was changing inside of you, that animal part of you finally sated and filled, while your emotions were left to work out the aftermath. As days passed, you didn't flinch when his hands would cup your bottom, you'd give him his customary kiss willingly. You'd spent a few more nights with him as well, more often than not falling asleep at his side, basking in his warmth like a cat in the sun. 

It was after one such night that you woke up the creaking of springs, the thud of wood against wall, and Steve's grunting breaths in your ear. 

It wasn't until the first thrust that you were really awake. 

"S-Ste-eve!" What began as a scold became a moan as he buried himself in you, taking you on your side with one leg cast back over his. "You-- you're still healing--!" 

"I'm well enough, Doc," his mouth found its place at the crook of your neck, nipping and biting while his hips pumped voraciously. "Can't be expected to wake next to this gorgeous creature every mornin' and not _act_, can I?" 

You wriggled and squirmed at his ministrations, his healthy arm slid under your side to tease and tweak the peaks of your breasts. "I-I don't want you rebleedi--ohh!!" 

The hand of his still healing arm had lazily dropped over your mound, his fingers no less nimble and slick on your bundle of nerves. "What's that, Doc? Didn't catch it," he taunted, drawing figure-eights, swirls, making your eyes roll back and squeeze him tighter. "You want more? Issat it?" 

You came off unintelligible as you protested, that isn't what you wanted; but as his fingers pressed firm, throbbing and sending firecrackers off inside you, that feral bit in you gained total control. Acting on instinct, your arm curved back, managing to grasp at the back of his neck, keeping his mouth sealed to your skin as he sucked and bit a claim in you. 

What a woman you'd become. 

"That's it, doll," he praised and preened, your walls fluttering and clenching to the rhythm of his rocking hips, to his talented fingers playing you like a virtuoso. "Shit, c'mon, sing for me, let me hear ya--!" 

And what Steve wanted, Steve got. 

The call of his name from your lips was quickly becoming his favorite sound; and it was the only word that ever came to mind when the world went white and he sent you careening into ecstasy. Panting, near sobbing out his name, in those moments he accepted your prayers like a hungry god; giving you what you needed, and what only he could provide. 

With your energy already surged and fizzled, and his spend painting the globes of your backside, you tried to link your thoughts back together, pulled from a dreamland and into a euphoric afterglow. Beside you, Steve was chipper and eager to start his day, tugging on his pressed pants and collared shirt with minor difficulties; his shoulder pained him more than his side. 

You snuck a peek past his pillows to watch him dressing. You baffled at the seemingly boundless vigor he'd woken with; or had that been because of you? Was tangling up his sheets with you his version of coffee and a cold shower? You were swayed by his sweet ramblings - you'd stopped lying to yourself on that account - but the fleece was not over your eyes. He was not so simple as a hopeless romantic. He was complex; and complexity brought confusion. 

"Le'me get that, Doc," your thoughts were interrupted as he pulled another unexplainable stunt; taking the handkerchief from his own pocket to tenderly clean you of his coating. "You'll be walkin' around with your ass stickin' to your skirt, that won't do." 

"No, thank you," he raised a brow as he finished, letting you sit upright. "What I mean is, no it won't, and thank you." You corrected, drawing up messy sheets to preserve some false modesty. 

He beamed at that; he knew you were leaning closer to him, day by day. "Anytime," he purred, leaning down and cupping your cheek to take his morning kiss. His touch no longer forced or guided you to his mouth; now it was merely a touch. "My Doc's a respectable lady, after all." 

_'Respectable!'_ You scoffed in your brain, peering away as he finagled his coat around his shoulders; he'd shoved that stained hankie into his breast pocket. What did he mean to do with that all day?  
Yet another inexplicable action; what reasoning had he for anything? And chiefly, anything to do with you? 

"Steve?" The words were on your tongue before you could stop them, practically throwing them at his patient face. "I wonder--how you are so comfortable with having me so often, when there is no love between us?" 

The alarm was present in his eyes first, followed rapidly by amusement - but was that a hint of a sting as well? "Oh Y/N," he coddled, smoothing his thumb across your cheekbone. "Is someone's gentle heart wounded?" 

You rolled your eyes and pushed away his doting hand. "Spare me," your voice was flat. "You must know that I don't... _love you_, Steve? And while our goings on are quite... exciting, mere sex does not breed love." 

"No it doesn't," he agreed, something smug flying across his expression. "Well... what makes you think I don't love you?" 

"Do you?" 

He blinked, and opened his mouth; only to shut it and sigh, pushing back his blond locks. "I s'pose I don't... but I need you." 

"Need?" You parroted, skeptical. "You hardly need me, Steve." 

"But I do; under my desires, I need you," he reached out his healthy hand, taking yours. "And need is so much more powerful than love." 

"Now you're just being ridiculous." You shook your head, drawing back your hand. 

"But it is," he insisted, sincere. "Your boy needs you, doesn't he? Without you, he'd be all alone, could even die. Would he die without love?" 

Steve talking about Billy as if he knew him always made your skin crawl. "Leave my son out of this." 

He huffed, but accepted that. "Fine, then. Take the old greengrocer lady a few blocks South; Missus Parker. Husband died, left 'er the shop, and she's got thugs lookin' to muscle in on her God given business... but that's where I keep her safe. They know she's under my care, so those thugs make themselves scarce. She _says_ she loves me anytime I stop in for an apple; but I _know_ that she needs me," he concluded. "And you can't just walk away from need." 

_'You can't just walk away from need.'_ Those words buzzed in your head long after Steve had shut himself up in his office, longer still since you'd caught up with Billy before he was off to school. They grew louder as Billy gave you a suspicious glance; the boy was smart, he knew things were different, changing. True, everything in the house was tumultuous, but something had changed in you; even your own blood could sense it. 

How much you had changed was still unclear. 

_'Do I need him?'_ You wondered, taking the morning to sterilize your instruments, a pot of water boiling hot on the gas stove. With tongs you submerged your scissors, mesmerized as they settled to the bottom with the rest of your tools. You needed his money, that was obvious; but your payment now was lodging, food instantly provided, your needs somehow met before you spoke them. You wanted for nothing... but you hadn't been paid a dime since you'd moved in. _'Was that all part of the plan?'_ You swirled the steel tongs in the roiling water, watching grime and wear boil away. _'Can't walk away from need... dependency,'_ a spit of water hopped from the pot, catching your wrist; but you hardly flinched, your skin reddening under your gaze._ 'When did I let myself grow so comfortable here?' _

You'd fought at first; it wasn't long ago when you rebuked his every advance. Yes, it had cost you dignity, a bruise or a smack; but you still walked away in honest dignity, knowing you'd held yourself up as long as you could. But that night in the basement, his sweet nothings, and his fiery stare... now here you were, wrapped up in his world, in his bed, enamored with him... 

_'No! Not with him!'_ You shook your head as you shook your wrist, the burning sensation finally coming through._ 'There is nothing there,'_ you insisted upon yourself, silencing his promises and his kindnesses as much as you could. You shut out the part of yourself that had feared when he bled on your table, that had succumbed to emotion and sobbed when he woke. You wished you could muzzle the beast that dragged you back to him, that so willingly participated in carnality at his whim; but that was not so simple._ 'My body nee-- wants him. That's all.' _

_'And I can shutter that away.' _

It was a risky choice, but one you had to try; would he still need you as fiercely if you stopped allowing him between your legs? It terrified you; but for every night spent with him, coupled as one, you were losing yourself a little more. You realized that, now. He said he needed you; but you didn't trust those words for a moment. On the contrary, despite your insistence, you _did_ need him; and if you ever hoped for freedom, things had to be put right. 

Still, it took massive courage to finally tap your knuckles against his office door; to fix his bandages, and deliver your ultimatum. You clutched at your medical bag and hoped you'd still be alive afterward. 

Footsteps fell and the door swung open; but it was not Steve on the other side. It was a man you'd never seen before, looking down at you with a half a sneer on his face. His pale eyes sized you up, kissing his teeth. 

"Are you here to bring lunch?" His voice was thick with a European accent. You bristled at his presumption; your size often had others assuming you were a cook. You appraised him subtly, noting most his silver hair; strange, at such a young age. 

"I'm the house physician," you held your head high, elbowing past the mystery man. "I'm here to check on Mr.Rogers." 

"Doctor," Steve was at his desk, papers strewn over it. He acknowledged your title, but didn't rise to greet you; not unusual in the presence of a stranger. "What's needed?" 

"I'm in to check and change your bandaging, if need be," you offered, aware that the silver-haired man behind you was standing much too close behind you. "I can come back later, if you need to finish your business privately."

"Don't let me bother you," the stranger's voice was right in your ear, cloying and jeering. "The men can do their business while you do your nursing." 

"Y/N is our Doctor, Mr.Maximoff," Steve spoke up for you while slipping off his jacket and loosing his buttons. The shoulder wound was the only one still causing issue, so he only dropped one sleeve. "I've found a woman's hands far more delicate and careful when it comes to sewin' up a man's life." 

"Even yours, it would seem," this Mr.Maximoff eyed the way you peeled back the bandage, using your freshly cleaned tweezers to examine the stitches - they'd come out soon, you reckoned. "So we are to thank Miss Y/N for your health then, and that these rumors of your death are false." 

"Ye--" 

"You may call me Dr.Y/L/N or you may not address me at all." the confidence you'd brewed to face Steve came flying from your lips, instead aimed at Maximoff, cutting off Steve completely. 

For a moment the room fell silent; Mr.Maximoff's eyes were dinner plates, staring at you, while Steve had to keep from gawking at your impudence. You were wondering if you had finally over stepped. 

But a loud laugh came from Steve's guest, clapping a hand over his chest. "My apologies, Doctor!! You must understand, we are not quite so modern back in Sokovia. We are still learning the ways of your New York."

Despite his apology, you felt no less tense. You'd known plenty of newcomers who were twice as accepting as this brash fellow; but as Steve cleared his throat, you knew to stand down. 

"Well," you rushed, fixing on new gauze and bindings to Steve's skin, his blue eyes still a mystery on you. "So long as it doesn't happen again." 

"I'm sure it won't," Steve spoke up, his brows dipping sternly. He tugged his shirt back into place just as your hands left him, his full attention back on Maximoff. "Our dear Doctor here is a gift, if a little sharp tongued. Save your life and cut you just as quickly." 

It was a joke, but you weren't laughing. The Sokovian just smirked and nodded; you were most certainly intruding on something, and were all too eager to vacate the office. You snapped shut your bag, your gaze now on the door. 

"I'll leave you to your business Mr.Rogers," you took hurried steps away before he could try and sneak a pinch or a grab; he didn't. "Mr.Maximoff." 

"Doctor," the guest caught your free hand before you could leave entirely, waiting til you met his eye to continue. "I am so truly sorry for my slight. Sometimes my tongue, is quicker than my brain." 

You wished you could storm out; but decorum kept you still. "As I said, so long as it doesn't happen again, sir." 

"Never," again, boldly, he raised your hand in his and pressed kisses on every knuckle. You wished you could smack him. "And please, call me Pietro." 

You were entirely fed up; with that you dragged your hand away, bidding them both a good afternoon. You didn't bother looking behind to see Steve's tight shoulders or the angry tick in his jaw. Your only goal was retreating up to the safety of your attic; watching through your window until you saw this new Pietro leave. 

______________________

  
Billy was cheerful over dinner that evening - a pound of chuck done with corn and potatoes was his favorite - and you were glad to have him as your sole dining companion. Steve would sometimes sneak down to the maid's kitchens, saying your cookery was better than his cook's; but you were allowed a reprieve that evening. 

"N' they moved away, teacher said so!" Billy grinned, shovelling up a forkful of potato. "So Harry can't bother me an'more!" 

You smiled, though you knew Steve had to have a hand in that; nobody's bully just up and moved away. You wondered what had really happened to them, if Steve had drove them out or worse; but Billy was smiling, and that was a happy distraction. 

"That's great, sweetie." you smiled, pushing around the food on your plate. You were pensive, caught up in how you might phrase yourself to Steve, when to do so, what the aftermath would be--

"Mamma?" You looked up from your plate to see Billy had stopped eating, looking up at you with his most serious face. 

"Yes baby?" 

"Do you love Mister Steve?" 

Your mouth dropped open at the question, fire rushing to your cheeks. "No--no, darling! What made you ask that!?" 

He shrugged nonchalantly, poking at a kernel. "You spend lotsa time wi'him," he mumbled, fidgeting. "An' I know he likes you, he says it a lot." 

_'Has Steve been talking to him alone?'_ You tabled that for a later conversation. For that moment, you reached out and held your son's hand, giving him your most adoring smile. "I don't love Mister Steve, Billy; but he is our friend, and my boss. I have to spend time with him," you leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "You're the only guy who's got my heart." 

He giggled at that, and just as happily went back to his meal, while you wondered of that was true. 

______________________

  
_'Take two.' _

This time, you were outside of Steve's bedroom, poised to knock. It was well into the night, Billy fast asleep, and the likelihood of a meeting was low. You'd summoned up all the nerve you had, tapping at his door. _'This has to stop.' _

It was a long minute before Steve opened his door; and even then, just a crack. "Y/N," he spoke softly, his eyes soft but his brow knitted. "What can I do for you?" 

You blinked, and the words you had prepared so carefully fell away on your tongue; under his eye, alone, you felt changed. Your demands turned to ghosts; and you fumbled an excuse. "I... I just came to tell you I cannot sleep here tonight," he nodded quickly, biting at his lip. "Uh... Billy had a slight fever, I need to keep an eye on him. I hope you'll understand." 

"Yes," he said hastily, fingers thrumbing the door. "Yes, I'll see you tomorrow, love." 

Your skin heated a moment just as the door was shut in your face. You didn't expect it to be so easy; or to feel quite so put out. 

_'Perhaps the business of the day hasn't ended,'_ you pondered as you climbed the stairs to up to your floor. _'I must've caught him in the middle of something; yes, that's it.' _

As you made excuses for him, a floorboard creaked above you, and yor head snapped up - Bucky. 

He was at your second top step, something covered in a dish towel was in one arm, a candle held aloft in his other. He'd turned at the sound of your foot falls, seemingly just as surprised to find you there as you were to him. 

"Mr.Barnes?" You took up the third step down from your door, peering up at him in candlelight. "Why are you here at such an hour?" 

"Doc," he nodded in greeting. "I uh... I came to give you this." 

He held out his mysterious bundle; as you took it you found it weighty, a ceramic dish. When you drew back the towel, you found sugary pastry. It was the last thing you'd ever expected. 

"What...?" You didn't know what question to ask. You had many.

"It's um, it's my Ma's recipe; Plum Charlotte," he gave a wide smile, if bashful. "I d'know if I made it right-- it called for salt, that's not right is it? It's dessert--" 

"Why are you giving me this?" You were still perplexed by his impromptu gift. 

"It's a thank you," he explained. "For savin' Steve. He's my best friend, n' I... I don't think he'd be alive if it weren't for you. So," he brandished his hand at the dish. "Thank you." 

You looked down at the casserole. In the candlelight you could tell the crust was a bit burnt, not enough butter had been used, and with the bubbling purple residue he'd overdone the plums; but there was a sweetness and kindness in it that you had long forgotten. You had forgotten how friendship looked. 

"Th... thank you, Mr.Barnes," you smiled and he relaxed. "I'm sure this will be lovely." 

"I wouldn't be so sure, I ain't much of a cook," he chuckled; his face grew younger with his laugh. He made to step down, wishing you goodnight, but paused. "And um... if you're pleasin', call me Bucky. I mean, think you know me well enough now to call me by my name." 

"Bucky," you agreed as you named him, granting him a good night as well. You were looking forward to tucking into the Charlotte; plums were in season, after all. "Are these plums from Missus Parker's?" 

His face fell in the dim light. "Didn't you hear?" You shook your head and he clicked his tongue. "That old place burned down." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are really gonna hate me in the next chapter... but for now, how'd you like this one? Comment or kudos if you like :) ♡♡♡
> 
> (Fun fact: plum charlotte was a common dish during the depression, as it was simple and filling and cheap!)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay yall, so there is straight up violent non consensual sex in this one, full on dark Steve, worst of the worst. 
> 
> If that is at all triggering for you, I highly recommend skipping this chapter; I'll see that you're caught up in the next one. 
> 
> WARNINGS:   
NON CON SEX   
VIOLENCE   
BODY SHAMING

The whole of the Rogers' house was surprised when Steve moved his girlfriend in. 

Particularly when he'd been sleeping with you not a week before. 

Wanda was beautiful, there was no doubt there; with her auburn hair, striking eyes and lithe figure, she and Steve made a perfect little picture. She took up a room at the end of his hallway, far enough a way to be proper, "but not so far I can't see ya whenever I miss ya." That's how Steve had described it. He was quick to lavish attention and affection over her, openly flirting over any meal taken with his household. He made her welcome; ensured the wait staff call her Miss Maximoff, and treated her as the lady of the house. 

And with her on his arm, he came back from the dead. 

Their first outing - to a dance hall on the edge of the East River, across from Manhattan - made the papers. In black and white ink was a photo of him, dashing as ever in a double breasted suit, with Wanda draped off of him in refinery and elegance. 

_ **"Intrepid War Hero Steven Rogers Out with Exotic Redhead!"** _

Though not one person spoke it, the eyes of the Rogers' family were all on you. And you were... confused. 

This was the goal, wasn't it? He'd left you alone since she'd joined the house, and with it you felt distance expanding day by day; you'd slept in your own bed, you hadn't been swayed by his tempting words because he wasn't speaking them. Not to you, at least. If all went to plan, he'd likely start paying you a true wage again soon. 

Yet you didn't find yourself feeling better. There was in you some pained little edge, recognizing his waning interest, that perhaps you had felt something more when his eyes had fallen on you, and it was not rationalizing the divide as your brain had done. No, some little part of you was bleeding for its lost love - even if it hadn't been love in the first place. 

You tried to ignore that piece of you as best you could; basking in your new free time, instead of him. Now that you weren't constantly looking over your shoulder, you had time to devote yourself to your medical books, absorbing the information for the first time in an age. Your time was also split with Billy, who was always eager to show off his newest crayon masterpiece or tell you of kindergarten. 

Curled up in your bed together, he was happily cuddled into your side as you read to him, one of your favorite classics- Treasure Island. 

"_You, sir, are the captain. It is for you to speak_," says Mr. Trelawney grandly," you recited, brushing back your boy's hair. "_First point," began Mr. Smollett. "We must go on, because we can't turn back--_" 

Billy's childish little snore told you story time was done for the evening. No matter; you knew already knew how it ended. You didn't fuss with carrying him to his cot, your own lids starting to droop. That night you fell asleep hugging him close, the quiet hush of his breathing lulling you to rest. 

It was the best sleep you'd had in all your memory. 

______________________

  
It was some days later that you made formal acquaintance with Wanda yourself. 

You'd gathered your confidence, enough to leave the premises; you'd attend the library, a favored pass time earlier in life. You were wrapped up in a coat, winter coming on, and descended your stairs to a shock of red hair and surprised green glass eyes. 

"Oh--!" She seemed as surprised to see you on the main landing of the house as you were to be exiting it. You'd been seen in passing, but she'd never heard you speak or learned your name. "I-I am sorry Miss, you frightened me." 

"I did?" It was a true enough question; you didn't consider yourself imposing. 

"It's only that, I have never met you in my weeks here; I thought you were a ghost!" She laughed lyrically, extending her delicate hand. "It's a relief to know you're flesh and blood as I am. My name is Wanda, Wanda Maximoff." 

Your brow raised imperceptibly at her surname; and your mind conjured images of a silver haired smart ass. Still, you shook her hand. "Doctor Y/L/N." 

"Doctor...?" Recognition passed across her pretty features, and you wondered what all she knew about you. The grin that plastered her face told you not very much. "Oh! You're the doctor who saved my Steve from those bullets!" 

Your spine stiffened slightly - _her_ Steve - but you reminded yourself he was never yours to begin with, and smiled as she squeezed your hand in gratitude. "Yes, it was a doozy; but he pulled through." 

"So strong, he is," she gushed, smiling to herself as you suppressed rolling your eyes. "But we are so lucky that you were there to help him." 

"Lucky, yes," you mused, altogether annoyed but pitiful towards the girl. She seemed to have no idea what kind of animal Steve was. "Have you... has Steve been your beau long?" 

"Oh, no," she blushed with embarrassment. "Not long, only a few weeks; but he insisted I come and live here, and my brother was more than happy to allow it. He's been an absolute dream!" 

_'You poor thing.'_ You wanted to give her a hug, tell her all the things you knew about Steve, and help her run back to wherever she'd come from - but hell would have rained down on you for that. Instead you simply nodded, shuffling past the doe eyed waif. "It was lovely to meet you, Miss Maximoff." 

"Oh please, call me Wanda," she insisted, though you were already halfway out to door. "Anyone who would save my Stevie is a friend to me!" 

_'Her Stevie.' _

You couldn't quite focus on anything you read that afternoon. 

______________________

  
A snow storm had rolled in the day that Steve called on you to come to his office. 

It had been nearly a month since your last tryst, and he'd barely spoke to you in more than a professional manner in that time. You were healing, using your time as your own, and settling into the goings on of the house. Your surgery grew busier, as his Commandos clashed with Stark's forces, but the stitching and care kept your skills sharp and you appreciated the challenge. Even Wanda, with her dizzy air, was proving far less grating. Things were looking up. 

He didn't come and find you himself; he sent a maid. Specifically, the very same you'd entrusted to care for Billy when your days were not so free. She found you in the parlor, thumbing through a medical journal, absently enjoying the snow outside.

"Doctor," she drew your gaze up with a polite little bow. "Mr.Rogers has requested you come to his office." 

Your brow dipped into a slight frown; perhaps his scars were bothering him. Changes in pressure were known to do that. "Did he provide a reason?" 

"No, ma'am," she shook her head, eyes downcast and hands clasped before her. "Only asked you go to see him. A discussion, he wants to have." 

Of course - he must've wanted to square away proper payments, now that you were merely his Doctor again. You supplanted a bookmark in your place and set it aside, standing. "Thank you, dear, I'll be right up." 

The maid nodded, an exemplary picture of grace. She had been so kind, so accommodating since you'd tasked her, and Billy seemed taken with her as well. Before you left the room, you came upon a realization. "You know, I don't know that I know your name." 

She smiled lightly, and flicked her green eyes up to meet yours. "It's Yelena." 

______________________

  
You had barely knocked the door once when a gruff "it's open" came from within. Even with time gone, you still took a deep breath before entering Steve's office; you wouldn't bow to the power he held over you. 

He was sat at his desk, the white outside casting in an ashy light from behind him. He didn't budge, not that you expected him to, but his mouth spread into a familiar grin at the sight of you. 

"Doc," he purred, leaning back in his seat. You fidgeted at his tone. "Been too long, hasn't it?" 

"Not so long," you remarked; something felt off. "Yelena said you asked for me?" 

"I did," he pushed his chair out slightly as a hand went up to undo his first button. "Feelin' a little worse for wear. Hopin' you could examine me." 

His action alarmed you, but you couldn't deny him; your services were as a doctor, and you couldn't leave him ill. 

"Alright; would you mind waiting a few moments? I can fetch my medical bag--" 

"No need for that," he declared, beckoning you to approach. "I'll stick my tongue out, you can press up on my throat; ain't got to go bein' all fancy." 

Alarm bells rang in your head, but you stepped forward all the same; if on shaky feet. Once at his side, his chair swiveled; his legs spread wide to accommodate you leaning in to him. He still wore that unsettling smile. 

"Ah... if you could open your mouth," he did so gladly, his mouth stretched wide with his tongue lazily out. You leaned down, not so far, but deep enough to peer at the back of his throat; a perfect pink, no swelling of his tonsils. His breath was even sweet. "Y-you look fine." 

"Do I?" He said smugly, wagging his brow like it was a compliment. He grabbed up your hands, bringing your fingertips to under his jaw, his beard prickling your flesh. "How 'bout here, anything out o'the ordinary?" 

Despite a resistance to touch him, you prodded his skin, feeling for any abnormalities. Still, he stared up at you with those eyes, a craving hidden poorly in them. "S-so where is Wanda today?" 

A dullness took over his baby blues and he pulled a face. "She's off visitin' her brother," he muttered, craning his neck to give you more access; his jugular practically bounced against your hand. "She'll be out til past nightfall... got tons of time on my hands." 

"I see," you snapped your fingers away, satisfied with your findings and altogether wanting to leave. "Well everything is in order, Steve; no swelling, everything looks healthy. I should leave you to your-- free time--" 

"Wait!" He stood hurriedly, gripping your arm before you could dash off. You hadn't been in his shadow for so long; you had nearly forgotten how imposing and dwarfing he was. With your eyes locked on his, he conjured back his grin. "Ain't you gonna' listen to my heartbeat?" 

"Steve, I really--" 

"C'mon, what's the harm?" He cupped the back of your head and you felt a familiar terror zing through your body. "Just press your ear against me; y'can tell me if it's broken." 

He wasn't taking arguments; rather than twist your neck you let him lean a side of your head into his chest, right over his heart. By no means was it as clear as it would be with a stethoscope, but it beat on in a steady, healthy thump. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with him; he was a specimen of health.

The beat picked up as you felt his nose brush over your scalp. "Mm... I missed how your hair smells." 

"Okay, what the hell!?" Frustration beat fear and you pushed back, though he still held a grasp on your arm. "I've had it with this funny stuff-- what are you trying to pull!?" 

He hushed you softly, stroking your sleeved arm; it made you angrier. "Don't be upset, doll, I'm just tryin' to be sweet to ya--" 

"Well don't!" You snapped, but he wouldn't let you run. "You've got somebody else to be sweet to now, I'm not looking to be some bimbo to you!" 

"Aw baby doll, it's all show; she's just arm candy," he crooned and you struggled. He slid his arm around your waist, pressing you firm against him. "You know you're my best gal." 

Your mouth gaped, then your teeth clenched. "Then why the hell have you taken up with this poor girl!? She doesn't deserve you lying, running 'round behind her back--" 

"So I should be out with you, then?" He snorted, like it was some poor joke. "Darling you know that round ass of yours sends me into fits, but do you really think I'd ever be seen with you? It ain't that type of thing, you and I." 

It was a shocking blow - one that hurt more than expected - but you focused instead on your rage. "I never wanted to be seen with you-- I never wanted to be with you!!" His eyes darkened in a threat but your words were loose now. "And moreover I'm not going to be with you now!!" 

"You were never without me, doll," he warned, fingers tightening. "You're mine; I never should've let ya forget that." 

It didn't matter how his trimmed nails were digging into your skin; every word was setting off new plumes of anger in you. "You've made a choice here, and I am _not_ yours, not anymore. Move on." 

"Tellin' me what to do like this isn't my own damn house," he growled, leaning over you; panic twinged in your chest. "You will _always_ be mine, Y/N; you go on resisting and lying to yourself, because you got a little competition? Fuck no; I still need you, and I know you still need me." 

"Competition!?" You screeched, actively trying to wrench yourself from his hold. "I'm through with this--this insanity! I am not competing with Wanda, because I never _wanted_ your attentions! I don't need you!!"

Something snapped in Steve then; you could see it in his face. Your rage was getting rapidly replaced with fear. "Don't need me?" He snarled, pressing forward and breaking your balance; only in his grip were you still standing up. "You think you don't need me? You've been spendin' weeks up in that cold little bed alone, and you're tellin' me you haven't craved this--" he shocked you still as his free hand cupped your skirted sex. "Even once?" 

Of course you had - but that was the furthest thing from your mind at the moment. 

"D-Don't you dare touch me like that!" You cried, slapping your hands against his chest to no avail. "Let me go! I won't be your complacent little doll!" 

"That's not your decision," his voice was pitch black; he replaced his hand at your hips with his thigh, maneuvering you til your backside pressed the desk. "You live in my house, you eat my food, you raise your boy here; you'll do whatever I fuckin' wish." 

You couldn't argue - he clapped his mouth over yours, silencing further protests. It wasn't a kiss, with his tongue forcing against yours, teeth clacking together; it was a gag, something to shut you up. He'd done it before - his kisses at one point would leave you breathless - but the taste of him then had your stomach turning, your blood cold, and your skin clammy. You had to get away, get out, run-- 

You bit him. Hard. 

"Augh!!" He recoiled to find pink on your lips and red on his; your teeth had caught in the plush of his bottom lip, now messy and gushed with blood. His fingers went up, the skin tender and torn; then he looked to you. 

Tyranny and doom brewed in his eyes; there was no beast there. Only a monster. 

"You ungrateful bitch!" He roared; in your awe of your own actions, you hadn't ran. It spelled your downfall. 

His bloodied hand flew back, then forward; his knuckles and bones thumped against your face in a dizzying boom. The pain stunned, you wobbled; long enough for him to spin you. Your eyes caught glimpse of the white outside before he had you slammed against the hard wood of the desk, your brow catching the worst of it. Your head bounced; and then it was your blood you saw. 

"I never should'a let you be for so long," his words echoed, sounding miles away. "Now you got to learn y'lesson." 

Disoriented, fuzzy, your limbs were slow and sloppy trying to push up at the desk, unclear of the world around you. Unclear of Steve hiking up your skirt, your slip, of him tearing your undergarments down your backside, only far enough to inhibit your legs. Unclear of everything until you felt a familiar, fleshy head press against your bare entrance. 

It was raw, hard and rough; he forced himself inside you, vicious as an animal. You weren't ready - not remotely - and a scream tore through you as he did. 

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed; your senses tuned you felt him moving over you, then fabric filled your open, sobbing mouth. "You shut up and you take it." 

You groaned still, around the wad keeping your jaw open; and pain overtook you as his hips surged. He'd never felt bigger; but there was no pleasure in it, even as your body scrambled to slick, to ease your torment. Anything to make the nightmare more bearable.

He took it to mean you were enjoying it. 

"That's it," there was smug and cold in his voice, thrusting away as he had so many times before. "I can feel it; your body won't lie about how you need me, not like that two-faced tongue of yours..."

Tears streamed down your face; everything stung, throbbed, or burned. His body was hunched over yours now, a hand on the back of your neck kept you pinned. Terror, fear and shame pumped through you, matching his own heaves. As had become the custom, he was inside you, all around you; and you wished nothing more than to fall off the face of the earth. 

"You're mine, Doc, you will always be mine --" he murmured, his mouth hot by your ear."N' you don't get to decide when this is over, you don't get to walk away from me--" 

That was becoming all too glaringly true.

Your feeble hands clawed at the wood and papers across the desk, desperately trying to pull from his pin. With every jerk of his hips your pelvis smacked into hardwood, bruising and scraping your skin; even through your thickness, your bones felt like they would crack. 

One wide hand swept up to the back of your neck, keeping your head down, acting as leverage while his speed and force picked up. "Were you really all uppity just 'cause of Wanda?" He sneered, a mirthless snicker in your ear. "Were you really that jealous?" 

Every word was a mockery, the most bitter torment you'd ever felt. You attempted to groan a no, a plea, anything; but barely anything came out. Just a whimper, wounded. Broken. 

His grip was bruising, his movements growing sloppy; no matter what you were feeling below him, he was nearly at his tipping point. "Y'need to hear it, don't you?" He panted, knowing you wouldn't answer. "Fine-- fuck, I love you Y/N, I lo-- I fuckin' love you--!" 

He snarled unintelligibly against your hair as the tether snapped; tainting your walls and leaving his final mark. His length twitched and throbbed in you, filling you completely and leaving you more empty than you'd ever felt. 

You'd never felt so brutalized; so punished. You knew something dark lived in Steve... but not anything so pitch black in itself. 

Your body acted of its own volition, just as soon as he peeled himself from your back. You finally pulled away his makeshift gag - his navy blue handkerchief. He made no attempt to stop you, didn't speak a word as on jellied legs you scrambled away; your first sob didn't even break from your lips til you'd locked the attic door behind you. 

By then, the magnitude of what he'd done settled in; the wood of the floor was far more welcoming as you collapsed. Silent shrieks fell into your hands, cupping your mouth that still tasted like his blood. Your fingers grazed the bruise of his backhand, drawing forth a sting. Even hunched, the pressure of your torso against your welted hips was agonizing. Even locked away, totally alone, he'd found a way to make himself linger on you no matter where you ran or hid. 

A headache came on as you ran out of tears, pounding and splitting behind your eyes. You sniffed up as much nerve as you could, crawling across to your bed, belongings. There was no will in you to stand. Your hands still shook as you fished out a small mirror from a small trunk of yours, to assess the damage; you yelped at your reflection.

Steve's wide hand left you with a fast purpling bruise from the edge of your jaw to just below your temple; just to look at it pained you. On the opposing side, blood smeared across your brow and forehead. You hadn't noticed it in your eye; tears had rinsed it away. 

You hurled the mirror away. Sobs overtook you again. You hoped sleep would come, but it never did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who made it to the end of that, well done and I'm sorry. 
> 
> Lots of balls in the air now; let's see where this goes. Comment/kudos if you like! ♡♡♡


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath; for better or worse.

It was midwinter, one of the coldest New York had ever known; and the Rogers house was equally frozen. It wasn't the temperature though, that had the inhabitants shivering. It was their indispensable Doc, changed like the season, cloistered up in the attic. Even the brave Commandos and steadfast Natasha were wary of setting foot up the steps; but when bleeding profusely, they had to.

Those living below only sought to bother you for injury or ailment; it seemed almost a risk to knock on your door now. There wasn't ever a guarantee that you'd answer; and if allowed in, they'd find an environment so cold and unyielding that none stayed long once the final suture was tied. 

You'd stitch silently - barely even breathing. Soak, cauterize, sew, bandage; work was the only thing that brought you respite. Staring at another's bruises and blood was all that made you stop dwelling on your own. If only for a few moments. 

You were different; everyone had noticed, though few knew why. 

Among those few were Yelena - and Bucky. 

He'd been the first to enter the attic after the incident. It wasn't without effort either; Billy had come to him with tears in his eyes, crying that he couldn't get in to see his mother, how he'd tried to get Steve to help but he couldn't find him. And so the job fell to Buck. 

He knocked out of courtesy - but if you hadn't opened up for your son, he knew he didn't have a chance. He set to work picking the lock - a skill he'd picked up when first falling in with unsavory folk - and had the tumbler turning and disengaging in seconds. 

A looking glass went flying past his head once he got the door open; the lashing out of a frightened, wounded being. He chose not to speak, just to take careful, slow steps across the floorboards, as if you were a deer to scare off. When at your bedside, he found you huddled underneath your thin blanket, shaking - though he suspected not from the cold. Even with most of your face covered, he could see the tracks of tears along your jaw, and what looked to be one stream of dried blood down one side. 

He knew this scene - he'd cared for a sister in much the same way, once. 

He didn't dare touch you first; how you'd crumble further if he had. He let himself slump to the floor, comfortably sat as he let one arm stretch out, the back of his hand resting on the edge of your mattress, fingers lax but welcoming. It would be your choice, if any, to instigate touch. Giving that back always came first.

It was a good hour or so before you finally grasped his hand. The first hurdle was passed. 

It was Bucky who fished out cotton swabs and rubbing alcohol from your things, who had been silent and soft when he finally uncovered your face. You'd winced in anticipation, imagining how he might react; but to his credit, his face remained calm. He'd be your port; and your friend. It's what you needed most. 

It was him too who had held your hands tightly when the tears had come again, he who would bring up small bundles of food or fresh clothes, so you were not forced from your haven before you were ready. 

And it was him who now had a tiny roommate; in the form of Billy. 

That was what hurt you most; you couldn't even bear to see your boy. Somehow Steve had taken that from you too. 

You didn't want him to see you as you were; shame had set into your skin now, and you feared that when he set eyes on you, he'd seen what had been done to you, all the secrets you'd tried so hard to shield him from. He'd see that you were no great creature, no more than a broken woman, unable to protect herself much less her own son. 

He wouldn't love you anymore. 

And so, for a fortnight, Billy spent his time with Bucky, Yelena never very far away. Billy didn't understand it, and would ask after you daily; but you weren't ready. 

Another man who claimed to love you asked after you constantly; but he'd have a harder time still. 

He didn't see what he'd done so wrong. 

______________________

Steve was wearing a groove into his floor with pacing; but every passing hour you spent in your attic, he grew more impatient. It was as if he had been the one caged.

Bucky watched, leaning against his friend's dresser, and fumed. 

"She ain't doin' what I hired her for," Steve muttered, his feet nearly stomping. "Thinks she can spend days on end up there, what is she, a bloody princess--" 

"She's still takin' the wounded," Bucky ground out, arms crossed tight over his chest. "Still fixin' the sick. She's doin' exactly what she was brought here to do." 

"Well she's not--!" He stopped himself, fists clenching at his sides. "She's not seen me in weeks, her own fuckin' boss..." 

"Boss," Bucky snorted derisively, earning a narrowed glare from Steve. "If she's doin' her job, best just t'leave her alone. God knows what you'd do to her now..." 

"Now?" Steve repeated, glowering and stalking up to his closest confident. A green monster reared inside him. "You've been up there, seen her? Talked to her?" 

"Yeah I've seen her," blues clashed with blues, the inseparable pair at odds with each other. "Seen what you done to her." 

Steve scoffed, shaking his head but never dropping his stare. "She needed learning; that's what you do when your lady gets out'a line." 

"You don't do what you did," Bucky growled back, taking a challenging step at Steve. "And she ain't your lady." 

"What, _you_ want her?" Steve saw red; the thought of another person's hands on you, even his oldest friend's, had him seething. "I swear t'God, you laid one finger on her an' I'll cut off your _damn_ arm--" 

"I didn't do anything more than clean up that gash on her head or ice that shiner _you_ gave her!!" Buck was shouting now; Steve was dumbstruck at that new information. "Y'fuckin' hurt her, y'made her scared for her own life-- goddammit it, all those bruises, you're practically your father--" 

That got Bucky decked. 

He spat blood, Steve's knuckles stung from the hit. "Don't you ever compare me to him," his voice was a whisper, threatening to waver as his body shook with rage and shame. "I am not my goddamn father." 

Bucky winced as he touched his jaw, straightening up. "Ain't ya, though? Solvin' problems with your fists, fightin' your friends," he could see the beastly resolve in Steve cracking. "Beatin' up some poor mother with a little boy on her skirts?" 

The truth burned and froze in his throat; Buck's words were an exact description of his father, of how he himself had spend so many nights in childhood. His own mother, bloody and beaten, trying to stand--

He wasn't his father, he told himself; he was just trying-- 

"She was all jealous," Steve crackled, something cold in him melting. "I wasn't tryin' to do her harm, I just wanted to show her I--" 

"Steve," Buck grabbed his friend's shoulder and squeezed, hard; he needed him to listen. "It don't matter what you wanted to do - it matters what you did." 

His blue eyes scrunched shut, head hung in remorse, forcing back tears accumulating behind his lids. "I didn't mean to-- she just--" 

"She didn't deserve what she got," Bucky said firmly, squeezing again. "Some stuff you just don't do, to any dame, even more one you're sweet on." 

"I love 'er, Buck," he admitted, glassy eyes rising up to look at him. "I told her so, I did; you know all this shit with the Maximoffs, she was thinkin' I'd left her, I had t'show her I still want her, I love her." 

"...Steve," Bucky, in all his time spent with Steve, had never known him to unravel so. He'd never seen him so exposed, even after the war; but there was no blame to be dealt at love. "Stevie, what you done, it ain't loving. You must know that." 

Steve didn't speak, but his head nodded in vigorous agreement. He was not his father - he spun that round and around in his mind. 

"This ain't the Steve I grew up with," Bucky tried a gentler approach; there was more than one lesson to learn there. "That skinny kid who couldn't even talk to a girl, much less say a sour word to one? Whatever happened to that kid?" His arms stretched out, casting his gaze around the room. "All this shit, it's poison; y'gotta know where you turned wrong, where you've gone too deep." 

"Wouldn't have her if I didn't have all this," Steve shook his head, missing Bucky's shoulders slump. "N' I got to keep her, I need her, man; she's mine--"

"Y'can't own people, Steve... I can't believe I'm havin' to tell you this," his friend was too far gone. Had he done something years ago, the state of New York wouldn't have been so chaotic; and there wouldn't be some poor woman terrified up in the attic. "How the hell did you ever get this bad?" 

He had no answer, nor did he understand the full gravity of the question - he only had a new task in mind. 

Get that door to open. 

______________________

  
It was the second time you'd been sick into your washbasin in as many hours, and yet the sensation of unease and upset wouldn't leave you. Somehow, even as you'd woke to the day, the day felt worse. A sense of dread descended upon you, worse than it commonly was, as if some new hell would rear it's head at any moment. 

So far, nothing but the vomiting had happened; but your nerves were on edge and raw nonetheless.

In your seclusion, you found a modicum of healing; but it was of a twisted kind. You were fine, alone - but you were incomplete. Like a bone broken without a setting, things would never be the same. You craved your son, your one scrap of family; yet still couldn't face him. 

Bucky had asked once - as had Yelena. Each time you'd shut down, only able to shake your head and wait for them to leave before collapsing into shame. 

The shame and regret swirled around you constantly. Any time it felt lighter, your bruises would throb or your cut would sting, and it'd come flooding back in around you, stopping up your air and leaving you drowning. 

You longed to go up for air; to feel anything besides the sorrow. 

Mid morning came, and with it, a hesitant knock on your door. It was early; one of the Commandos must've just come home, scraped up after a night of drink, you assumed. You threw on a white apron - Bucky had brought it for you, to keep your clothes clean longer - and went to the door. 

The last person you wanted to see stood on the other side. 

Steve stood a few steps down, perspective making him shorter than you, as he stared up in abject horror at his doings. The bruises he'd dealt were growing yellow and green, the wound above your brow was butterflied closed; but sure as Bucky had said them, there they were. He could feel his father breathing down his neck, from beyond the grave. 

Captured by his gaze, you froze, hand clenched around the doorknob, feet stuck to the floor. You only saw that cold blue, not his face, not the expression it wore, not the blood that dripped from a slash across his cheek. 

He'd found an excuse to come see you. 

As usual, he spoke first. "Doc," he tried to keep his tone gentle, but his voice was knives in your ears. "I um... I got hurt." 

You could push him down the stairs. Maybe his neck would snap, maybe that would feel just the tiniest bit better. Maybe you could slit his throat, watch his blood seep into the wood flooring at your feet. A thousand ways for him to die whirled around in your brain, as you stepped aside and allowed him in. 

Who knew what he'd do if you refused him. 

He felt the same chill in the air that everyone else did, entering into your little makeshift office. He recognized a chair from the maid's kitchens, a lamp from the store room. No doubt Bucky's good will brought those up. A screen - something new - separated your little space from your bed; across which was spread a knitted blanket, bearing a complex weave of colors. He had one just like it; it was Bucky's grandmother's specialty. 

He could feel his friend all over the room, but swallowed down his jealousy. Bucky was just trying to help; to fix what he had done. 

You didn't say a word, just gestured to the chair. He sat obediently, still mooning like a kicked puppy. It enraged you; he had no right to feel a speck of hurt in all his mess. You fetched a needle and catgut, peering closely into the gape on his cheekbone. It was perfect, with smooth edges that would heal with ease; just his luck, he wouldn't have a scar. 

Threading the needle was proving taxing; your hands wouldn't cease their quivering. The hatred, fear and shame were storming inside you, a dark cloud practically swirling over your head. You could send the needle right through his eye, you surmised, before he snapped your neck-- 

His hand on your wrist made every cell in your body freeze; like he'd stopped time with a touch. 

"Y/N," he started, still not completely sure of what he intended to say. Was there anything that could be done? His eyes locked with yours, rounded in fear and hope. "I--" 

You shrunk from his grasp, hardening up as if you yourself were ice; gone was your shaking as you backed from him, eyes rounded til your back hit your privacy screen. Something twisted and snapped in you then - at his touch, something fresh had broken. 

He gaped at your reaction; how you paled and cowered for him. You were a caged bird with clipped wings, he had seen to that. 

He longed for you to smack him, call him a beast, to be you; he'd extinguished your fire. 

"Oh Y/N," he warbled, leaving the chair only to drop to his knees at your feet. He held his hands up, wishing he could embrace you, squeeze away the hurt he'd inflicted. Tears came, glossing over his gorgeous blues as he searched your face. "Y/N I am so sorry." 

Stillness had taken over your body; truly, you were an ice sculpture he was beseeching to. You'd seen him apologetic before - he'd hurt you before - but this was past the point of pain, past healing. You could only stare back down, watching his own trembling fingers. For all his words, he was still to blame. 

If he, in fact, felt that way. 

"Please," he begged; his greed got the best of him, his hand capturing yours, stroking your skin. Every swipe of his thumb iced your flesh over. "P-Please, doll, I never meant t'hurt you like I did, I'm so sorry-- I thought you were gonna leave me--" 

"D-don't touch me," you heard a voice demand, and his grasp dropped - it took several moments to realize you had spoken. "I... I can't go through that again." 

Steve nodded vehemently, shaking his head so hard his brain rattled. "Never," he swore; you were more receptive than he'd expected. "Never-- I was just scared, I got angry-- I could never leave you, baby. You know, Wanda, she's just--" 

"Wanda..." you repeated, having removed her from your brain since the incident. Speaking her name again brought on feelings of dread and pity. "...arm candy." 

"Yes!" He exclaimed, once again foregoing your wishes and taking both your hands in his. "It's, it's just a business arrangement, for the Sokovian docks-- oh darlin', I got so mush-mouthed, I didn't explain any of it right, never should'a taken it out on you." 

"No," something was warming in your middle, and you didn't find his hands as freezing anymore. "No you shouldn't have." 

"I know, oh I know it baby," he cooed, peppering your hands with whiskered kisses, pressing the warmth of your palm to his uncut cheek. "Y'got to know, ya scared me; when you said you didn't want t'be with me," he shuddered, and his fingers held tighter. "Scared me to death, thinkin' of you gone; there's nobody as good for me as you, doll." 

Empty words, sweet nothings; but you didn't scurry away when his arms wrapped around your thick thighs, his face buried against your lap. "You scared me too, Steve." 

"I know, 'm sorry," his tears tipped, staining your apron. "I'm so sorry, I'm never gonna stop makin' it up to ya, 'cause so much as you're mine, I'm yours."

"...mine?" You rolled the word around your mouth. What did that mean? 

"All yours," he affirmed, his chin resting against the pudge of your belly, gazing up in hopeful tears. "Don't matter what I do out on those streets, 'cause I am _yours_, Y/N. Lost cause, hundred percent, yours." 

As he kissed against your apron, you mulled it over in your head. Steven Grant Rogers, beast of Brooklyn, yours. A veritable king of the criminal underworld. Your hands settled on his shoulders. "...mine." 

That was good enough for him; he sprang to his feet, nodding vigorously and cupping your cheeks. His wide hands hid away your bruises, your scab; you could both pretend like it'd never happened. He'd prove he wasn't his father; even if just to you. 

"Mine." he declared, a relieved smile on his face. You didn't struggle, you didn't pull from him; he'd never felt such joy. He happily tugged you into a kiss, the taste of your lips welcoming and sorely missed. He promised himself to never have another day without you. 

His beard scratched and his lips stung on yours. 

As he pulled away, his forehead rested on yours; shaking breaths blooming from his mouth as he stared at your splendor. "D'you forgive me?" 

It was a daring question; one you wholeheartedly knew the answer to. A mask that mimicked a smile grew across your face. "Yes." 

He groaned in relief, in bliss, smattering your face with his sharp kisses. "I love you," he whispered, between each one. "I love you, I love you..." 

_'He's mine.'_ The thought echoed in you while he unlaced your apron. Steve Rogers had pledged himself to you; his life was in your hands. 

To do with however you saw fit. 

______________________

  
As gentle, forgiving sounds decended down the attic stairs, Bucky turned his ear away. He retreated to his room, despondent and resentful; but he'd gladly tell Billy that his mother would see him again soon. That was the only silver in the dark cloud that now consumed the Rogers' house; including him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've definitely reached a tipping point here, folks. I'm still sorting out how the second half of this will go, and if I'm honest, reader response will help to dictate where we go from here. 
> 
> So if you liked it or have some thoughts on it, leave me a kudos or comment :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new year dawns. 
> 
> Warnings: mildly public sex   
Mentions of oral   
Cheating   
Lies   
Deceit

Wanda, bless her young heart, still lived her life oblivious of many things. She was so content in her position at Steve's side that you couldn't quite tell if it was a chosen ignorance or pure blindness that kept her from realizing her reality. 

She'd happily take Steve's hand and kiss him; while his lips had been busy between your legs the night before. 

You'd ceased your protesting on her behalf; you knew that revealing to Wanda your relationship would mean throwing the whole of Brooklyn into turmoil, putting a target on Steve's back. You weren't prepared for all that. 

Not quite yet. 

______________________

Wanda's latest task was as frivolous as most others she conducted; she was selecting a gown. December thirty-first was a day away, and with it came an invitation to the Mayor O'Dwyer's yearly gala. Steve always procured tickets; or rather, they were given to him. In exchange for one night's peace, the Mayor would look the other way on most every unsavory act conducted in his fine burroughs. And that night of peace, Steve reasoned, should be spent in refinery.

This year, he had his obvious date, Wanda; who was over the moon. She'd requested gowns from Bloomingdale's, Barney's, Saks -- currently spread out across her bed under her critical eyes. 

She'd also demanded you be in attendance for her selection; she wanted another woman's opinion. And so you sat, bored to tears, as she swept up creations of chiffon and lace, holding them up and posing as if she were a model. 

"This one?" She prompted, running her hand over peach colored satin. "It brings out my eyes, doesn't it?" 

In truth, it didn't. You balanced Billy on your hip - glued to your side, after his time apart from you - and gave the gown a second look. In truth, you'd never had much eye for fashion; but the color made her skin look sallow and sickly. "It washes out your skin; you'll look tired in the eyes." 

She gasped, mortified; but thanked you for your honesty just the same. Even with your uninformed and disinterested notions, she was glad to have them; the poor girl, she considered you a friend. 

Next she hoisted up a daring cut of red silk, delicate beads outlining the edge of the chest. "Oh, this!" She gushed, twirling as the silk wrapped itself around her legs. "Isn't this just perfect!?"

You hushed a sigh and brushed a hand through your hair absentmindedly; of all the brassy frocks, she seemed most excited for the red. You just wanted it the experience over with. "Stunning." Your voice couldn't have been more drab. 

She squealed in agreement, setting the dress back, and digging through her choices of accessories. She was halfway through a tirade about colors of evening gloves, when a knock came through the door. 

"Y'ladies decent?" Steve didn't bother to wait for the answer, striding in with a wide smile; Bucky in tow. He wore a slightly uncomfortable grimace. 

"Stevie!" Wanda cheered, throwing her arms around his neck for a kiss. You averted your eyes; you still felt guilt for your part in his lurid actions, even if you participated. "I've just picked out my dress for tomorrow, I can hardly wait!" 

"I'm sure you'll be a knockout," his grin widened in confidence, and if possible, she fell a little more in love. What it must have been like, to only ever know Steve's sweetest self, you'd never know. "Now maybe you can help find Y/N a dress too?" 

Your head snapped up in alarm, hearing your name and dress in the same sentence. "What?" 

Steve tossed his eyes to you, mischief behind them. He gave Bucky a pat on his back, urging him forward. "Buck here has a question for ya." 

_'Oh no,'_ you shrank into the chair, hugged Billy a little closer, as Bucky stepped up awkwardly._ 'No no no, one night's peace, that's all I ask!' _

"Dr.Y/L/N?" He started, shuffling on his feet. It would've been cute if it wasn't so clear he was being forced into this. "Will you go to the Mayoral gala with me?" 

You heard Wanda sigh out an awe as you gawked up at Bucky, while all other eyes in the room fell on you. Could you say no? You'd been rather looking forward to a night on your own, without Steve's pawing; you were going to help Billy set up his new Erector Set--

"Don't leave a man waitin', Doc." Steve had an edge to his tone - you realized that the invitation was an order. 

You painted your lips with a smile, nodding to Bucky. "I'll gladly be your company for the evening." 

Wanda clapped in excitement, already rushing out of the room to phone her trusty department stores for your sizes. Billy looked up at you in a mixture of surprise and confusion. 

"Does this mean you get t'meet the mayor?" He asked, clinging to your shirt. 

"Maybe, sweetheart," you gave him the most genuine smile you could manage, as Bucky gladly took his leave from you, muttering something with Steve behind him. "It's a very crowded event." 

He looked somber, considering your answer. "Who... who's gonna help me with my 'rector Set?" 

Your heart broke a little - Steve once again stole your time. You pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek, squeezing him in a hug. 

"Don't worry, darling - I'm sure Yelena will help you." 

______________________

You'd never looked less like yourself. 

The only gown available on such short notice - given your size and your own modesty requests - was still garish in your opinion. Form fitting with a wide, off the shoulder cut, it cascaded row upon row of beads in midnight blue. It whispered as you walked, the little sleeves concealing the upper of your arms and despite the humble neckline, your cleavage more than compensated for allure. The tea length gloves she'd given you were the best fit for your wrists; a dazzling, crisp white. 

Wanda had insisted on curling and fluffing your hair; you had insisted on a simple updo. Your scalloped locks hugging the edge of your hairline. She'd set it with hairpins from her personal collection, tipped with faux diamonds; she said it looked like a galaxy in your hair. 

She'd won the battle on your makeup; and your reflection stared back at you with darkened lashes and bold ruby lips. 

In truth, you looked ravishing - but it still felt entirely unlike you. 

You threw up in the main floor's toilet for the second time. Nerves, you told yourself; that's all it was. 

Bucky gawked at you in much the same fashion as you descended the steps of the brownstone, a borrowed fur tossed around your shoulders. He was cutting a fine figure, himself - his hair was perfectly slicked and styled, and, on Steve's behest, he'd donned his formal uniform from his military years. The green made him look paler; but that only let his eyes shine brighter. 

"Y/N," he murmured, taking your hand for the last step. He'd not taken his eyes off you; and you felt like a circus attraction. "...not quite a bloody apron, is it?" 

Your shoulders relaxed; you hadn't noticed how tense they were. You offered a weak smile, gesturing to his own get up. "Not quite your usual look either, Buck." 

The evening promised to be smooth, so long as you were at each other's sides. Dernier, playing the part of chaffeur, pulled up in a gaudy town car, in a rich cream shade. Bucky opened the back passenger door, while you knit your brows in surprise. 

"Steve and Wanda headed out earlier," he explained, recognizing your question. "To meet with the mayor. We're to meet them there." 

"Ah," you stepped into the back seat, a little dismayed. You could feel your nerves creeping back. "Well... let's get this over with." 

"Don't worry," he whispered, shutting the car door once inside. Dernier pulled from the curb and your journey began. "I'm sure I can get us kicked out in a pinch." 

______________________

  
The gala, held in the grandest ballroom of the most noteworthy hotel in Manhattan, was an agreed-upon peace point. That singular night, the bloody politics of New York's evils were set aside; and the beasts and monsters played pretend in revelry and wealth. 

They expected the very best.

Mayor O'Dwyer had spared no expense; the ceiling decked in golden tresses of ribbon and metallic swaths, the stars and stripes bold and proud hung down from each wall. Amidst the well-to-do crowd, clever waiters slid along with trays of champagne and nibbles; and if you asked the right one, they could procure you less legal libations. The attendees were dressed to kill; gowns of every color, opera, evening, tea length gloves, pearls, diamonds, sapphires - rhinestones were out. Men with massive power and larger egos cut sharp figures in their monkey suits, most old enough to be their date's father. 

In that sea of extravagance, you suddenly felt invisible in your navy gown, with your army man escort. You felt a strange relief. 

Until a fresh pair of blue eyes fell on you. 

You could feel his stare before you met it; Steve had zeroed in from across the massive room, his gaze trained and rapt on you. Wanda was giggling with some other party-goer, but he couldn't have cared if she'd up and left him right then. All he could see was you; all red, white and blue. 

He moved without warning, Wanda tugged along as she clung to his arm for balance; only to scurry ahead of him when she noticed he'd spotted you and Bucky. She hugged you warmly, raving over her fabulous taste, how well you wore the dress. You smiled as much as you could and thanked her. You glanced up at Steve; more handsome than ever. He'd shaved clean for the ocassion; and his jaw could've cut paper.

Steve just stared. 

He couldn't find a single word in his head; though every word he knew for beautiful had all blown through him as soon as he'd seen you. More than dressed, you simply looked like you owned the world; the world he wished to give you. 

If it was possible, he fell a little bit more in love. 

"Ste-eve!" Wanda nudged his ribcage, breaking him from his trance. To her, he was being impolite; sure, you were on the heavier side, but you still looked lovely. "Doesn't Y/N look nice?" 

He opened his mouth, but it took a few extra seconds for his voice to fill it. "Yeah," he nodded, a heat in his cheeks. "Y-You're a real looker." 

Why were your cheeks warming too? 

"Steve," Bucky spoke his first words for the evening, but it was past his friend that he was staring. "He's here." 

All of you turned; as if on ceremony. 

After all, Tony Stark had just walked in. 

You'd never seen him in person, only heard stories or seen headshots in the papers; he was shorter than you'd expected. In a way, his looks were simple - dark hair, dark eyes, a dark goatee, and an older complexion - but there was an evident magnetism that wafted from him. You weren't the only one who noticed; nearly half the party had hushed to stare at the iron rule of New York. 

Steve noticeably bristled, Bucky felt something cold on his spine. You merely watched. 

On Tony's arm was the stunning heiress, Virginia Potts, a vision in cornflower blue, and in with them came his own entourage. An awkward older man with greying curls and a shy eye, a black man who held himself with the poise of an officer - his marine corps uniform confirmed that. The room seemed to gape for them, splitting as if held back by a velvet rope; none were worthy enough to stand in their way. 

That is, til Steve stepped directly into their path. 

Tony didn't look shocked; merely bemused. "Captain Rogers," he nodded, glancing at Steve's own dress wear. "Aren't we looking healthy?" 

Steve's brows hadn't split from their furrow since he'd aimed his eye at Tony. There was heat there, a mutual rage; neither one would let themselves blink first. "Never felt better, Stark," he sneered, wrapping a hand around Wanda's waist. "Feel ten years younger." 

"You don't look like it." Tony's snark was biting and dry, as he appraised Steve's little faction; he recognized Bucky, had seen him many times. Wanda, he'd seen in the papers; Steve's new squeeze. And you... you were a mystery. 

How he loved a mystery. 

"Aren't you gonna introduce us?" Tony let Virginia's arm drop, gliding to stand in front of you. His brown eyes were picking you apart, figuring you out; he'd always had a brain for that. "Who might you be, Miss...?" 

"Doctor," you spoke with strength, despite feeling none in the moment. Bucky's fingertips were at the small of your back, Steve glaring murder into Tony as he raised your hand in a polite greeting. "I'm Dr.Y/L/N. Miste-- Captain Rogers' in-house physician." 

Tony's eyes glowed with recognition. "Oh, that's *you?" He seemed far more interested in you than he'd been at all in Steve or his (public) girl. "So you're the one who saved Steve here from the nasty gunshot a while back?" 

"Best hands in the state," Steve said smugly. "Feels like I'm superhuman, with her around." 

"She's not quite what I'd pictured," Tony crowed, his stare still firm on you. "You'd think he'd be better at dodging bullets; the good little soldier." 

It was well known that Tony Stark had missed the draft; freedom was a purchase he could afford. 

"Some men had the stones to stand up and fight for their country," Steve snarled, standing up straighter. His eyes were colder than ever, drifting down to Tony's tuxedo. "And some men just... wear suits." 

______________________

  
It was at O'Dwyer's pleading that Steve and Tony ceased their proverbial peacocking, if only to avoid an oncoming fist fight. Lesser crime families were likely to pile on, and he only had so many guests from the police force there; it could've easily turned bloodbath. 

With much chagrin, the two alphas parted; and the party reignited. The band struck up, and with the Mayor's blessing, dancing commenced. 

You spent a half-dozen songs in Bucky's arms, swirling and swaying to the horns and strings of the band. From past his shoulder, you caught glimpses of Steve's starving stare, Wanda indulging in champagne, the odd brown eyed leer from Stark; but you'd gladly focused on Bucky.

"I don't know why Steve insists on comin' to this," he mutters, just loud enough for you. "We never grew up fancy... and these uniforms fucki-- freakin' itch." 

Your mouth curved up as you laughed - it felt real on your tongue. "It's hard to picture; little Bucky and Steve, running around Brooklyn, scraping pennies together for a loaf of bread." 

"Hey, we were never _that_ bad," he chided, squeezing your hand in a tease; he was a talented dancer, not too overbearing. His eyes twinkled, and he leaned in with a smirk under his stubble. "We can't all be butcher's daughters." 

You accepted his jibe with grace, letting him spin you out to the music, pulling you back into a dancer's embrace; you hadn't even danced that much at your wedding. Now it felt like walking. "And we can't all be wolfing down Plum Charlottes."

He had a come back - but he never spoke it. Steve's hand landed on his shoulder mid turn, your feet off kilter with the sudden halt. He gave one of his dazzling smiles; this one, for you. "Mind if I cut in?" 

Bucky stepped back, glancing around. "Be my guest," he said, gesturing to you. This was his purpose for the night; to be Steve's trusty placeholder. "Should I go see to Wanda?" 

"She's fine," Steve replied confidently. "Off to powder her nose." The expression alarmed you - you knew it held different meanings. 

Bucky gave a tight nod, giving a light bow before making his way to a standing table near a wall; eager for a little bubbly himself. 

Before you could get a word in about sore feet or an achy back, Steve had swept you up in a lively turn, the band playing a lively jazz number. At first he gazed into your eyes, awestruck, but soon his vision dipped lower, into the crease of your breasts; and his hand on your waist dipped lower as well. 

"My god, you angel," he hummed, wishing he could reach through the beads and material to grasp you flesh to flesh. "You look so fuckin' amazing tonight, Doc, I can't describe it, just... damn." 

Heat found your cheeks again - perhaps it was embarrassment. "Thank you, Steve." 

"You are so welcome," he purred, pressing his front to yours in a spin; you felt a hardness against your belly. "Y'feel that? Feel what you do to me?" 

Despite yourself, heat crept down to your chest, and lower still. Even in your despise for him, Steve was ridiculously appealing; and was still waiting, to be allowed back in your warmth. He'd been unusually patient. "Steve, really, now?" 

"I couldn't help it baby, you look so good," he growled out a moan, a bit too loudly; his head dipped against yours and he wished he could kiss at your neck. "The second I saw you, been hard as steel; all I can think about is sinkin' into you..." 

His touch was creeping closer to your backside, threatening to squeeze a handful. You caught his forearm and jerked it back up, setting him with a firm glare. Up until then, he was just dancing with his employee; the wrong touch would belay the truth of your relationship to watchful enemies. "Not here." 

In earlier months, he might have protested; now he looked for compromise. "Not here," he copied in agreement; but he jerked his blue eyes in the direction of a hallway, under-frequented. "But somewhere?" 

You sighed; it had been awhile, after all. And he'd no doubt sulk for the rest of the evening otherwise... 

"Let's go." 

From yards across the room, brown eyes watched Steve grasp your hand, leading you out a corridor. 

______________________

  
"I've missed you," the door of the bathroom wasn't even locked before he had your back against it, lips locked to yours in a famished kiss. His hands groped at your bottom greedily, beads spilling through his fingers. "Fuck, this dress, these lips..." 

When he pulled back, a smear of red coated his mouth; you made note that he'd need to get that off before he left. You were about to say so when he captured you in a kiss again, now tangling your tongues as if your taste was the last batch of a rare wine. 

With his touches, his growls, his tongue; you couldn't stifle a primal little moan. 

"D'you miss me too?" He panted, cupping your face in both hands. You were a picture, breathless and red lipped and soft eyed; he prayed luck was on his side. "D'you miss how good I can be for ya?" 

_'For me,'_ you preened at the language, he was learning. _'Not to me.'_ This time you instigated the kiss, running a hand across the front of his slacks; perhaps some attention from your hand would suffice. "I miss how you feel," you murmured, knowing you'd been quiet too long. "Hot... smooth, but hard..." 

He groaned, head rolling back as you pulled him free; your strokes were both soothing and stoking the fire inside him. The sweep of your fingers, the spread of early drops of his seed; it was intoxicating. But he needed more. 

"Y/N," he whimpered, taking your wrist as lightly as he could, shuddering before finding your eyes again. His question shone from them before he'd even asked it. "P-Please, I need t'be inside you... tonight, can I...?" 

Those puppy eyes; they infuriated you. But perhaps it was the night, the handsome look of his uniform, your dancing - you nodded. 

His shoulders visibly dropped in ease, grinning down in excitement. He knew he couldn't finagle the dress from your body - he didn't want to - so against the sink it was. He pulled you with both hands the few steps to the vanity, letting you steady your hands against it before taking his place at your back, kissing at every inch of your spine he could. He caught sight of himself in the mirror; grinning at the smear of color on his mouth. He'd wear you everywhere if he could. 

You were eager; either to get it over with, or to finally quell your own hunger. You weren't too sure, nor were you in a particular pursuit to decide. Dressed unlike yourself, you behaved as such; bending over til your breasts hit the porcelain sink, swaying your hips. 

"What're you waiting for-- Captain?" 

He nearly roared, nearly ripped the skirt up your legs as he sought out your center. He got your flimsy panties halfway down your thighs before he simply couldn't wait. His hands tightened on your hips, one hard thrust; and he sheathed himself completely. 

You could've been embarrassed by the slickness that welcomed him; instead, your eyes rolled back and your nails scraped the sink. One night of indulgence couldn't possibly do more damage. 

"Fucking-- oh god," he couldn't bring himself to budge, not yet; it didn't matter who he fucked in the interim, nothing felt better than you. "Goddamn it, I missed this so bad--" 

"Steve," you cooed; you were just as starved as he was, and now coupled together, the animal in you needed more. "P-please... move?" 

He didn't need telling twice; his nails dug into your thick hips as he set a lightning pace, pounding into you, a heady goal in mind. He grunted with every push and pull, earning your gasps as you watched in the mirror. His concentration, his hunger was clear on his features, as his perfect teeth sank into his delicious lips, his perfect hair knocked asunder in fervor.

  
It was intoxicating, and had you squeezing him tighter, your climax coming on fast; this encounter wouldn't be long. 

He was hot on your heels with his own precipice. So much time without you, having been hard as rock all night; his stamina had taken a serious blow. He caught your eye in the mirror, seeing your own desperate glance; he'd watch you fall apart, first hand. 

"Come for me, Y/N," he begged, lying across your back to reach his long arm lower, between your legs; a swipe of his fingers had your end coming faster still. "Come, I need t'feel ya; let me see it--" 

At his begging, and his swift touch, you snapped; and he got his wish. Waves if intensity flooded through you as your body writhed, your back arched, and from your lips spilled 'Steve' over and over again. With his name on your lips, watching you come apart for him; he felt like a god. 

In turn, he fell past his edge; and with your own name in his growls he spent within you, painting your pink insides a pearly white. Buried in you, nearly one, he felt his strongest; most himself. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, muttering sweet nothings as his hips twitched with every pump; he'd saved up plenty for you. 

Quick, dirty, satisfying; but you were still locked in a bathroom, under the man of another woman, still nestled snug inside you. Guilt twisted in your stomach; reality always came flushing in too quickly. 

"Steve," you pressed on his hugging arms, wriggling against the sink. "Steve, we should get back... we'll be missed." 

He hated it - you were right. Since you'd _forgiven_ him, he saw reason more easily; or at least your wishes. He nodded and winced, pulling away and out carefully; though still he savored the sight of himself spilling from your entrance. 

"You're right." he conceded. Fishing a towel from the counter top, he wiped the red remnants of your kisses from his skin while you straightened your gown, pulled your garments back to their proper places. You scolded yourself, having not brought extra lipstick, and resigned yourself to stealing Steve's towel to rub you lips clean; if a little pink. 

You were about to unlock the door, make your exit when Steve pulled you back, only for a quick, passionate kiss. It wasn't filthy, just hot, and still wanting, even when he'd taken all he could. 

"I love you." He whispered, kissing the tip of your nose. 

You smiled, your teeth aching as they clenched. "Thank you, Steve." 

You let him leave first, inconspicuously rejoining the crowded ballroom; and once a minute had passed, you made for the cloakroom. You needed air. 

______________________

  
The night air was freezing, even with your fur around you, and snowflakes were beginning to flutter through the air. Your breath hung in clouds as you pressed down as hard as you could on your anger, the shame you still carried, and worse yet, the warmth you felt from Steve. 

You were trapped, you knew that now. Your life bound tightly to his, possibly immovably. He was your jailer, and yet he loved you so. Were you so wicked for finding scraps of pleasure in your chaos? Or was indulging in him simply the acceptance that you were as bad as he ever would be? The streetlights you gazed at offered no answer. 

"You look somber," a familiar and unwelcome sound made you jump; dark eyes appraised you as Tony stark stepped from the hotel's entrance as well, keen to have found you alone. "Mourning someone?" 

You pulled your fur tighter, as if it were armor. "It grew too hot inside," you offered, turning back from him. "I needed room to breathe." 

"I'm sure you did... that Steve of yours can be very breathtaking," he didn't see it, but your body froze at his words. What did he know? "So much so you could choke." 

"I'd ask you not speak ill of my employer," you snapped, glaring past your shoulder now. "Its through him that I have the life I live." 

"And only through him?" Tony prompted, stepping into your space. His eyes were almost amber in the lamplight. "You seem like a strong woman... I'm sure you can't owe _everything_ you have to Steve Rogers?"

You were in no mood for whatever antics this Stark had in mind; you only knew he could be far more cruel than Steve. Even at his worst. You swiveled in the dusted snow, marching towards the doors. "I'm done with this. You have a healthy New Year, Mr.Stark." 

"Wait," he caught your elbow in a shockingly strong grip, locking you in a stare. "Don't you want to be out of there one day? Have a life of your own?" 

You couldn't form the words; and he took that as your answer. 

"Work for me," his voice was low, your gasp wasn't. "I can always use an extra set of eyes. You help me bring an end to Rogers, I'll look after you and..." his eyes drifted down your body knowingly. "And whatever family you've got." 

It was the offer of a lifetime; Stark had the power to bring them down, you knew that. You could get on the winning side of things; see Steve's blood run in the streets, see the Rogers' house and all its members toppled and wiped out. 

That was what Tony did. He didn't leave warnings; he obliterated. 

And thinking of warm blue eyes, you shook your head. You wouldn't trade the pan for the fire. 

"Get your mitts off'a her!!" Steve's roaring yell cut through the dark, cut through your answer as he came storming from the doorway, backlit in gold and fury. He looked ready for a fight, Wanda and Bucky not far behind. 

Tony dropped your arm, turning to square up to Steve and his large build. "Temper, Captain; you really want to desecrate our one peaceful day?" 

"You laid a hand on her I'll do whatever I fuckin' need to," he hissed, murder shaking in his fists. "I swear, you even breathed a threat at her I will see you dea--"

"Captain Rogers," your voice was gentle but clear, as you pressed what you hoped looked like a friendly hand to his shoulder. He turned to you and his eyes instantly softened. "Mr.Stark has done nothing. Can do nothing," you tossed the brunette a daggered look. "He's not worth breaking this truce." 

"She's right, Steve," Bucky added, stepping up. "He's not worth it." 

"Right." Tony shook his head, chuckling. Sounds, suddenly, came erupting from within the building, cheers and song. In the midst of stopping an outbreak of war, 1946 had ended. A new day and year were dawning. 

"Well... happy new year, folks," Tony clapped his hands nonchalantly, making to saunter back inside. He paused at your side, peering between you and your lover. "Hope you can handle it." 

______________________

  
Your encounter with iron Tony Stark spun over in your mind countless times on the ride back to Brooklyn. Steve had insisted you and Wanda swap; he wanted to question you on what Tony had said. In reality, he'd been silent the whole way; just holding your hand so tightly it might break. 

_'Have a life of my own...' _

_'Leave one day...' _

_'Betray Steve...' _

_'An extra set of eyes...' _

Your head pounded, full of the questions you wanted answers to. Tony was not a man to trust, but even in his intent, he outlined the path to the truth for you. 

You were no closer accepting it when you finally halted outside the brownstone, eager for aspirin and sleep. Steve's grip kept you in the car, though, when you went to leave. Meeting his face, you were also met with unshed tears. 

"I could never lose you," he breathed, stroking your knuckles. "I... I couldn't. Please know that, Y/N." The earth seemed to shake with his honesty. You only nodded; though perhaps you'd kiss him later, in comfort. For now, you only wanted rest.

You would not get that, though; as you walked through the door, you were met with the Rogers' house in consummate chaos. 

Yelena was gone; and so was Billy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNN! 
> 
> Phew it was a race to get this one out before new years; but we did it yall! 
> 
> If you like, leave a kudos or comment ♡♡♡ you all keep me so inspired. And I'll see you all in 2020!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of the kidnapping! 
> 
> Warnings:   
Actual torture   
Gentle Steve   
Dark Steve   
Lies scandal deceit!

The sun was rising for the first time in 1947; but no one in the Rogers' household had got a wink of sleep. They had a kidnapping to deal with. 

Though, it was the first time the victim was actually a kid. 

True to his military days, Steve had his plan of attack. He'd sent Wanda to her brother's, excusing her safety and wellbeing; while not wanting her underfoot. Bucky, his Commandos, Natasha, and a freshly landed Sam were gathered in his office, ready for their marching orders.

"Dernier, I want every inch of the East River shores combed, round up anyone north of Clinton Hill who calls himself one of us," he barked; his voice was rough with exhaustion, but he had no plans to sleep. As sure as he'd said it, Dernier took his leave. "and Morita, I want you on questioning; go from Red Hook to Canarsie, you see any suspicious persons, you give 'em a talk." 

"Suspicious persons?" Morita repeated; he always dealt better in specifics. 

"You don't recognize them personally, they're an unknown," Steve barked. "Hell, call them an enemy. We can't be slackin' here." 

"Yes boss." And Morita was gone. 

Steve rubbed at his temples, his head smarting and his heart hurting. Beyond his worry for Billy, he was furious, shaken and embarrassed. His house had been infiltrated - for _weeks_ \- and that little snake of a girl had stolen the most vulnerable soul in his care. Despite his rise from the dead, his empire was taking blows and it was weakening. Missus Parker, spies in his house, and now an abduction; this could not stand. He'd get Billy back, restore your family; and then true hell would fall on his foes. 

"Nat," he didn't have the luxury of dwelling on revenge; there was too much to be done. "You've got Yelena's papers, from when she was hired on?" 

"Here," the red-head handed him the manila folder, with only a scant few sheets inside. "Info said she'd just moved here, was just looking for honest work. Was a maid at her last job too - but I'd bet that was a lie as well." 

"Best guess," Steve muttered, flitting through the writing. "Where the hell is _Volgograd_?" 

"It's in Russia," Bucky spoke up, raising a brow. "They call it Stalingrad now." 

"Of course they do," Steve shook his head, throwing the file amidst the hurricane of papers before him. "Nat, I want you talking to every Ruskie you know; somebody's bound to know her." 

"Sure thing, Cap." And his enforcer took her leave. 

"Sam, the South Brooklyn dock; they've got ferries over to Ellis, you go with her description and make sure she ain't tryin' to skip town--" he was cut short by the sound of his front door slamming shut. 

You'd come home.

Every step up the front stair was excruciating; your body was strained and exhausted, but your mind was restless and acutely awake. You'd been out all night, changing from your gala wear into old wool and knit to go and search for your boy. 

You'd combed through the parks, his schoolyard, walked down streets you'd never heard of, talked to the scant few folks you'd seen in the early hours; nobody had heard or seen a thing. You'd exhausted every effort, resorting to screaming his name across expanses of pavement, only to be met with silence. As the sun had crested, tears streamed silently down your cheeks; but you'd dried your face before entering the house. You didn't want them seeing you so broken. 

"Y/N," you winced as Steve's call cut you, squinting your tired eyes shut and steadying yourself on the railing. He took long strides to meet you, taking your free hand. "Are you alright?" 

Despite your fatigue, your eyes cracked open with a glare up at his face. "No, Steve," your voice crackled, your legs wobbled. "I'm not alright - my son is missing." 

"I know," he spoke quietly, Bucky and Sam having joined him. "I'm doin' everything I can--" 

"He went missing... from your house... while you had me dragged out on the town to your dick-measuring contest with Stark," it didn't matter that you'd dried your cheeks; fresh tears streamed anew. "Now he's been taken, and..." 

The words wouldn't come out; the thought of Billy hurt was too painful, overwhelming to voice. Steve gripped your hand firmly, nearly enough to hurt, while he cradled your wet cheek in his other palm. "We'll get 'im back, I promise; it'll be okay--" 

"Get off'a me," it wasn't a roar, but a quiet cry off your lips that made him let go. You pushed past him, past a consoling Sam and a distraught Bucky, to make for the first flight up to the attic. "I-I need to be alone." 

Steve suppressed every urge to chase you up the stairs, to do something more to help you; but he'd do more from his office. "Sam," he swallowed down his own pain, back to the matter at hand. "The South docks." 

"Got it, boss," Sam nodded, clapping Steve on the shoulder as he left. "We'll figure this out." 

"Where do you need me, Steve?" Bucky was just as tired as he was, but equally ready to step up. "Just tell me where to go." 

Steve looked back at his oldest friend, and in that moment felt the smallest he'd ever been. He was 15 again, scrawny, picked on, abused. He had no answers. 

"Let's go back to the office," he declared, dragging tired feet back down the hall. "We'll see if we missed somethin'." 

______________________

The attic had never felt so massive or empty as that cold, January morning. The door was barely latched, unlocked behind you as you swayed across the floorboards, the creak of the wood screeching in the quiet. 

You didn't make for your bed, no; you went to Billy's, a small trundle, unmade and vacant in the corner. The sheets were ice cold, rumpled. You could see him, pulled from his warm sleep in the middle of the night; he probably had no idea what was happening. What lies had she told him? 

His book bag leaned against the post of his bed, his latest writing test peeking out the edge. Above it, dangling from the post, was his worn red scarf._ 'She didn't even take his scarf,'_ your heart ripped anew, gingerly taking up the scarf like it'd fall apart if you weren't careful. _'What if he's cold? What if he's hurt? Scared?'_ You buried your face in the yarn; it smelled like him, and your cries became sobs. _'I should have been here, I should never have let him out of my sight-- now he could be--' _

An image of Billy, still, cold, lifeless, crossed your mind - and the worry and guilt doubled over and bubbled up. You barely made it across the attic to your basin before you heaved up your stomach contents - bile mixed with salt water as your tears dropped into your sick. 

A new, different sensation of dread filled your belly; just as Steve came through your door. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he was at your side in a second; he immediately took the sickness to be worry, heartbreak. What else would it be? His hand was at your back, rubbing soft circles. "It'll be okay, we'll get him back--" 

"Don't say that," you rumbled back, bracing your shaking body against the edges of the basin. "You can't say that, because you can't fucking know... you don't even know if he's alive anymore than I do." 

"He is," Steve said with hushed confidence, gently easing you to your feet. "They... whoever did this, they wouldn't have taken him just to kill him. They want something out of this; out of me."

"You..." this time what boiled was rage. Your eyes were searing slits as you turned your stare up at Steve. "My son is gone... because of you." 

He could feel the new wave of anger washing over you, and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I know," he admitted. "I know this is on me, and it'll be on me to get him back. I _will_ find him, Y/N; and whoever's done this will pay." 

As furious as you were, you didn't want vengeance; you just wanted Billy safe in your arms. "And what if you can't?" Your voice went rubbery again, your eyes wetting. "What if all your thugs can't find my boy? What then?" 

"That won't happen, we'll find him," Steve assured you, his own irritation prickling up his spine. "You just have to trust me--" 

"I-I spoke to a police officer," through your tears you didn't see how the vein in Steve's neck twitched at that. "They said I couldn't-- I couldn't file a missing persons report til 24 hours had passed --I want them, I want proper help, Steve--"

He pressed a thumb against your lips, his fingers spread across your jaw. His stare was cold, firm; as well it should've been. The last thing he needed was cops sniffing around his residence; he'd truly thought that after months at his side, you'd known better than to involve them. 

"No cops," he stated; it was not up for debate, he would not hear an argument if you had one. "None. We don't need 'em -- and if this is on any of the families of New York, getting the blues mixed in will just put Billy's life in danger." 

You gulped, silent. Was he right? You'd heard stories like this before; involving the police almost always resulted in things going south. There were usually demands, kidnappers almost always wanted something-- but they'd left no clue, no note. What route could you take now, backed into a corner? 

"I can't just wait," you finally managed, though your swaying body said otherwise. You were physically spent. "I-I can head over the bridge, start looking in the city--" 

"No!" It wasn't a shout, merely an unyielding and finalizing decision. He held you by your shoulders, keeping you steady. "Doll, you're no good t'anybody like this; you're runnin' on fumes. Y'need to rest, try to sleep." 

"How can I?" You honestly didn't know. Your head ached, weary, but it wouldn't stop the constant chant of _'Billy is missing!'_ "How could I possibly sleep when he's out there? When he needs me?" 

"You've done all you can right now," Steve cooed, pulling you into a soft embrace. You didn't fight it, let the stroke of his fingers across your shoulders calm you. "I've got every square inch of Brooklyn covered, baby. If anything happens, we will know about it," you didn't mind his lips leaving smooth kisses across your forehead and cheeks. "What Billy needs most from ya right now is for y'to sleep." 

You could have argued, protested, pushed him aside and gone out again; but your body was eager and craving the familiarity of his touch and his warmth. Your eyes closed, stinging tired. "W-will you wake me... if you find anything?" 

"Of course," he promised. He pulled from you, just enough to start stripping away your layers. First your coat, unwinding your scarf; then delicately working down the buttons of your blouse. "In a heartbeat; when I know, you'll know," your slacks next; unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed away like the rest of it. His touches were almost ghostly; you could barely feel him combing his fingers through your hair, letting it loose around your shoulders. "But y'gotta sleep for me to wake you." 

Your instinct was to push back, struggle; but he moved you so preciously to your bed, tucking you up in amongst your sheets and quilt. A more aware mind would've been shocked to have him lie beside you; he'd never shared your cramped twin bed with you before. His arm was around you, tugging til you were pressed against his chest; his heartbeat like a lullaby. 

"Sleep, Y/N," he whispered, but your mind was already falling away, rest a welcome respite. "I'll fix this. I'll get your boy." 

You were in a dreamless slumber in mere seconds. 

Steve watched over you, studying the little lines and slight age on your face as you drifted further from him. You had indeed been right; it was because of him that Billy was gone. Whoever had bid Yelena to steal him away had signed their own death warrant, as far as he was concerned. A slight on you was a slight on him. 

He laid with you for nearly an hour, watching over you and resisting sleep himself, before he finally rose. The anger and vengeance in him provided a heady fire to keep him awake and sharp; and having you asleep left him with one less immediate worry. He cracked his neck, sore, as he descended the attic steps and refocusing on his tasks, to find Bucky hanging up the telephone in the main hall. 

"Any news?" Steve left all his softness in your bed; it was all business in the floors below. 

"That was Sam," Bucky replied, sounding hardly more hopeful. "He caught up with Yelena at Ellis Island, tryin' to book passage to Europe. He's got her now." 

"Good," it was something - but from the sounds of things, not enough. "And Billy?"

"No sign of him." 

______________________

Yelena was a little worse for wear by the time Sam had her back to the house. Her skirt was torn, shoes scuffed from dragging, and in a general disarray - but she remained stoic and tightlipped as she was cuffed at the wrists, ankles tied to a chair in the storage room. It'd serve for interrogation. 

Steve had called back his inner circle for the shake down - Bucky, Natasha and Sam stood in the shadows of the room while Steve stood imposing over the little Russian girl. Every cell in his body told him to rip her apart, unleash his anger; but not before getting his answers. He had to go slowly. 

It was best you stayed asleep, he decided. You didn't need to know about this part. 

"So," he cocked his head, thick arms crossed over his chest. "Y'took the kid." 

"**_Ty ne naydesh' yego._**" It was all she had to say. All she'd been instructed to say. 

Bucky spoke up to translate. "She said we won--"

"I don't give a fuck what she said," Steve snapped, though his glare never left Yelena. "I don't have to speak the language to know she's bein' difficult." 

Bucky quieted. Steve would get his answers; likely in the hardest way. 

"Now, Yelena," Steve began over, letting his hands shrug into his pockets. "I really can't decide if you were paid off, if you got conned into doin' this, or if you're just that fuckin' dense." 

Despite her expression, fear was brewing behind her eyes. One on one with Steve Rogers, an all American giant, anyone would be frightened. "**_T-Ty ne naydesh' yego._**"

"Yeah, heard ya the first time," he crouched to her level, observing her like prey. "Seems like that's the only tune you're gonna sing, huh? Somebody must have you wrapped 'round their little finger, or six feet in their pocket." 

She didn't respond to that; she just curled her hands into fists in her lap. She knew the plan in her head; get you to the meeting place, make another offer. Don't give anyone away--

"Doesn't matter," he huffed, grabbing her forearm; she struggled feebly as he squeezed tight, her bones whinging in her flesh. With his other hand he took her pinkie almost delicately, wedged between his thumb and fingers. "If you're not gonna sing, you're gonna scream." 

A hard jerk, the crack of bone; a shrill cry. Bucky looked away, Sam shut his eyes. Nat looked on in silence. 

Yelena tried to pull away, nurse her broken finger, but Steve's grip was like steel. Satisfied with the immediate purpling of the skin, he moved to her ring finger. "Not much housemaid work for some dame with one good hand, is there?" He pulled in either direction, dislocating and crushing. "Hope whoever you gave that kid to paid you well 'nough. Won't be findin' any work here on out." 

Tears streamed down her face, her eyes darting up to the other figures in the room, desperate; but they were unmoved. "P-please, stop, I don't--" 

"Oh she speaks English again!" Snap went her middle finger, cracked at the knuckle; barely heard over her squeal. "I'm not interested in what you 'don't', missy; I want to know what you did. Who'd you pass my boy off to?" 

Her breath came in rapid pants, stare flicking between her hand and Steve's flat expression. "I-I didn't know him, sh-they told me to-to take him to Front--" she shrieked out in pain, her index broken. "And Dover! Please!! That's all I know!!" 

"I don't believe you," he didn't bother with her thumb; he released her wrist, only to sandwich her mangled hand between his own. "Even if I did, that song ain't enough t'stop this. Y'hurt somebody I love, Yelena. Y'made every bone in her body ache... I'm gonna do the same to you." 

He'd just begun to squeeze when the door flung itself wide - Yelena's shrieks had woken you. 

"Stop!! What the hell are you doing!?" A voice stronger than you felt belted from your lungs; the scene before you an outright horror show. Steve's lieutenants didn't stop you as you pushed past, shoving Steve himself aside to examine his damage. You knew it was his handiwork; brutal, barely an ounce of control, excessive. Those breaks would never mend the same. 

"Why would you do this," you asked, staring at a fully standing Steve. His face glowered with unfulfilled anger. "This... this is barbaric!!" 

"She took your son, Y/N!" Steve hollered back; he was out of patience, out of kindness. "She deserves every ounce of pain she's feelin--" 

"She deserves prison!!" Your heart was not fond of her anymore; but you wouldn't stand for his unnecessary cruelty. "This is tantamount to torture!" 

"Y-Y/N," Yelena was whimpering, almost losing consciousness past her pain. "Y/N, th-they... they asked for you." 

All eyes fell to the simpering maid then, alarm meeting you the most. "What?" 

"They... they said they want you," she sobbed, her hands shaking, incurring further stinging. "That... that you get the boy back when you come to them... wh-when you want a life of your own." 

The last puzzle piece fell in your mind; look after your family, indeed. "...Tony Stark did this?" 

A hiss of rage over your shoulder came from Steve as Yelena nodded. "H-he wanted us here, and you--" 

"I've heard enough," Steve declared; his voice dead and dark. "We've got enough to go on. She's worn out her welcome." 

"Wait!" Your medical training kicked in; the bones needed setting, she needed medicating. "I-I need to fix her fingers, she needs--" 

"She won't be usin' that hand anymore," Steve's fingers snapped, and Bucky and Sam shared a look before moving to you and Yelena. "She won't be usin' anythin' anymore." 

"No!!" Yelena protested, writhing and wriggling as Sam untied her ankles, hoisting her over his shoulder. Bucky held you by your middle, kept you back from freeing her. "No, I've told you everything!! Please, I-I can help--" 

"Why do I want the help of a rat and a squealing swine?" Steve hissed, turning to her as Sam carted her to the door. "You delivered Stark's message... now you'll send mine." 

"_**Spasi menya!!**_" She slipped back into Russian, but it fell on uncaring ears. "_**Ty ne naydesh' yego."Pomogi mne sestra! ya sdelal to, chto ty prosil!!**_"

You felt Bucky tense behind you as the inhabitants of the room dispersed; Steve gave Natasha orders, who flitted away. Yelena's cries sounded through the house as Sam reluctantly carried her to the basement. She wouldn't live til nightfall.

"We've got what we need now," Steve was visibly lighter as he turned to you, as if he hadn't just ordered the execution of his own torture victim. "Stark is nothin' if not dramatic. It won't take us long to narrow down where he's keepin' Billy; I'll have him back t'you by tomorrow." 

You stared, slack-jawed, up at that Brooklyn beast. How he so effortlessly moved between the golden charmer and the horrible monster he truly was, you'd never guess. You couldn't even form words, left slouched on the floor as Bucky released you, shaking out of your own terror. Your fear of him bloomed fresh. 

"Steve," Bucky sounded panicked, his own face agog. "I don't think Yelena was working alone." 

Renewed concern crossed Steve's face. "What are you talking about?" 

"What she said last... I know Nat and I both heard it, but it was definitely meant for her," he gulped; the Rogers' house had many holes. "She called her _sister_." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHWAAAHHH? 
> 
> So yeah, been sitting on that one for awhile; and now to save Billy! If we can...
> 
> Leave a kudos or comment if you like!! You all keep me so inspired! ♡♡♡


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further lies! Discoveries!! Truths!!

Nat was in the wind; like a ghost, she'd disappeared from the doorstep of the house, despite all the men therein clamoring to catch her before she got too far. She'd vanished. 

It made her guilt all but confirmed; Natasha Romanoff had turned on Steve Rogers. 

He took it very personally. 

Bucky tried his hardest keeping the Commandos on task - he chose not to share the news of Nat's betrayal - but Steve took the blow harder than a bullet. Even with your begging to stay focused, to find Billy, he'd stormed off without a word to his bedroom; licking his wounds like an injured beast. 

You were similarly shaken; but the parent in you couldn't mope or mourn over Nat or Yelena or any of it. Billy still needed you, still needed finding; and you had seen firsthand the lengths that Stark's people would go to for his plans. All this, just to get you to turn? What could you do that was so important or vital? What about you was worth turning over on one's own family? 

Her own family. You still couldn't believe it. Whether they were blood or not, Yelena had still named her as sister; and Nat had stood there, unmoved, while Steve had mutilated her. How could she have managed that? How could she have let her own sibling know such torture and say nothing? 

Her own sibling. 

Siblings. 

You had an suspicion, a dread, that had been growing in the recent weeks. You couldn't stop from noticing the signs; you'd seen them in others countless times in others, as well as in yourself. The sickness, the odd aches and pains, a strange stirring that was both foreign and all too familiar. You'd hoped against hope that it was in your head, that Steve hadn't accomplished the unsaid goal he seemed to pursue with every encounter. It couldn't be, you couldn't be - but at that moment, you prayed that you were. It could've been the only thing to break Steve from his stagnant gloom. 

It's what had you sat on the floor of the attic, an old urine test from your midwifery days stewing in a beaker, swirling in your fingers. You had to know. 

The color turned; hcG was present. 

Congratulations to you. 

______________________

  
You'd knocked at Steve's bedroom door countless times, the sound mundane and usual as your knuckles met wood; but never before had you felt quite so terrified. There was too much to feel, too many ways he could react. A part of you hoped for nothing; to swing the door to meet an empty room. 

"It's open." It wasn't the first time you'd heard that call from within. You swallowed down as much fear as you could stomach, and entered. 

Steve's back was to you, his figure silhouetted in the white daylight from his window. The harsh glow lit up the half-empty liquor bottle in his hand. From behind, the edge of his jaw looked sharper, the curve of his fist like shards of glass; to touch him would be to cut oneself. 

But you had no other choice. 

"Steve," your voice was as even as you could make it; and still it wavered. "You... are you alright?" 

His laugh was mirthless, colder than the air outside. "Fuckin' swell, Doc. Never felt better." 

You gulped and your mouth grimaced; gentility wasn't going to help much. "Stupid question," you excused your words. "I'm sorry. I, uh... I need to tell you somethi--" 

"--y'know Nat got us our first real contract 'round here?" His voice was raw and strained; like breathing was an injury. "Just the um... the candy machines, down b'the pictures, but it was cash. We were just punks, runnin' around roughin' up folks before that," his head shook before it dipped, his grip tightening on the neck of the bottle. "Said if we're gonna be big time, we gotta start thinkin' big... guess we weren't big enough for her." 

Despite your terror and desperation, you felt his pain; this was an immense treachery, from one of his confidantes. Whatever she had shared, would share with Stark had to be damning; and she'd forsaken her whole life for it. He could likely still feel her boot on his neck as she'd used him to climb the criminal ladder. 

"N' I was fuckin' blind to it," the grind of his teeth was audible across the room. "I was a goddamn idiot, thinkin' she was worth trustin'," he turned to you then, his eyes bleary and icy. "Thinkin' anyone was worth trustin'." 

Your skin was suddenly clammy; your mouth suddenly dry. You were a lamb in a lion's den. 

"Steve, I'm sorry for what she's done--" 

"I can't think of when she turned," he rambled on, long strides crossing his floor to loom over your head. "How long has she been workin' for that snake? Was it when I brought in the Maximoffs? Was it the shooting?" His hand met your cheek in a caress that felt like needles. "Was it when I took you in?" 

Your eyes were saucers; you could not have it end here. "This is all just ideas, it's pain-- we won't know what caused this unless we hear it from her--" 

"She never liked you," he admitted, his digits slipping down to rest on your throat. "Said as much t'me, but y'made me happy so she didn't pay it any mind," his fingertips pressed in and your breath hitched. "Did you drive her to his side? Did she hate you 'nough for that?" 

Even with his hold you stood your ground. "Th-that couldn't be, Steve, why would Stark be luring me out then? Wh-why wouldn't she kill me herself?" 

"T'teach me a lesson," he had an answer for everything as his touch became a squeeze. "Shit didn't hit the fan 'til you showed up doll--" his voice became a low growl, his hand almost bruising. "--it's you isn't it? Stark sent you-- sent me to love you, is that it? Sent you to set my goddamn world on fire!?" 

"Enough!" You shouted, as much as you could with a compromised trachea. Your hands flew up, nails dug into his wrist. "I am not one of Stark's puppets!! If I was, I wouldn't be... I wouldn't be as I am." 

He was shaking, seething. "N' how is that?" 

You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe he'd kill you anyway. "I'm... I'm in the family way." 

His hand and the bottle dropped in unison; the whiskey splashing across the carpet and your shoes. You chanced a peek up at him. He wore a face of total awe, gobsmacked and shocked. Had he heard you? 

His once choking palm moved flat against your belly; already round, but now holding a secret. "...you're pregnant?" 

He sounded so small, so clueless; a woman in love might have found it endearing. You only found it vexing. Nonetheless, you let your hands fall knit over his, guiding his hand just over your womb. "Yes." you whispered, somehow still overcome. Tears blinked away. 

"We're havin' a baby," the words rolled in his mouth as he got used to the flavor of them; fresh hope and determination flowed with them. "I'm gonna be a father." 

You wished you could vomit. "Yes," you nodded, freeing a hand to cup his stubbled cheek. "And I'll be a mother twice over... or I'd like to be. And to do that, we _need_ to find Billy." 

He took a deep breath, suddenly sober with newfound purpose. "I'm on it," he stated, firm. His hand flew to the back of your neck and pulled you into a hard, whiskey flavored kiss. "He's as good as home." 

You felt as though you'd just made a grave error.

______________________

  
By nightfall, all the Rogers' inner circle had reconvened; you'd convinced Steve not to share the news of the baby just yet, not wanting to pull focus from the mission. They had new intelligence; something enough to go on. Gathered around a large map, a single spot was circled in ink pointed to your best chance.

"There's movement at Stark's hangar at LaGuardia," Sam's access as a pilot granted him movement on airstrips; even those in Tony Stark's territory. "But no planes. 10 to one odds he's there." 

"One o' our Manhattan watchers can corroborate that," Bucky offered. "Saw Stark's personal assistant, Jarvis, leavin' one o' those _Bodegas_ with 3 boxes of Peppermint Patties." 

"Sounds like the kid," Steve agreed and your heart jumped; in that red circle was your boy. You could've raced there. "They must be waitin' for us on grounds that big." 

"That's his play," Dugan spoke up; he was always first to back up Steve's more explosive plans. "What's our counter, boss?" 

"We raze that shithole into the ground," your head turned sharply, gawking up at Steve. "Scorched earth. Show 'em what happens when they fuck with our kids." 

The men didn't seem to catch his allusion, simply grinning and nodding along. Bucky didn't look happy, but murmured agreement all the same. They were all eager for a drop of Stark's blood. 

"H-Hold on," you had to be the voice of reason; as you so often did. "Who's to say they wouldn't kill him with an approach like that? It's too dangerous." 

"What would you propose we do?" Steve asked. You were surprised; normally he'd storm forward without a thought. Clearly, holding his offspring bought you a new respect. 

"They're not waiting for you and your fellas; they're waiting for me," you explained. "I think... I think I should go alone." 

"Not a chance in hell!" He barked, turning and grabbing your hand. Appearances didn't matter before his thugs; they all knew the truth of you two. "They know what you are to me, n' if you don't tell them what they want to hear they'll take you, or worse... I can't lose the both of you." 

That meant something very different to your ears - did Billy even enter into the equation anymore? 

"And I won't lose my son," you argued, brow tight. "I won't have a building turned to Swiss cheese when there's the chance he's inside it--" 

"Wait," Bucky piped up, stepping forward. "Think we might be able t'have a little of both here."

______________________

  
You'd never visited an airfield before; empty, vast, but for the buzzing of propellers in the distance. It was all encompassing, and even as you were driven along to the right hangar, it felt like every inch took forever. 

Steve sat in the driver's seat of the Buick '45. He didn't agree to the plan until you agreed it should be him to accompany you. It still irked you; he was too heavily wrapped in his vengeance, too likely to go off on whoever was waiting. He should've stepped back; but the newly named father in him wasn't backing down. 

Had you rushed too quickly in telling him? 

"We're here," Steve grunted, dragging you from your worrying mind. Your stomach twisted, cramped; you weren't prepared for what you might find within the massive building. He must've sensed your hesitation, as he took up your hand in a comforting squeeze. "Let's go get our boy, Y/N." 

_'Our boy.' _

Despite your growing nausea, you climbed out of the passenger seat. Once around the car, you could see the hangar doors open and gaping like a hungry set of jaws; and from inside, far within, you could make out a standing figure, and a biplane. 

That was Billy's favorite model. 

Every step was knives, your eyes hesitant to blink as the pair of you made your entrance. You shook and fought down tears, but wouldn't take Steve's arm for the approach; you wouldn't give watching eyes any more fodder than they already had. 

"Mamma!!" 

You broke into an all out sprint. Steve could hardly keep up with you. 

You'd been terrified you'd never hear your son's voice again; let alone see him, standing in the shadow of the same military man at Stark's side from the gala.

"Dr.Y/L/N," the unknown officer's voice was eerily calm, despite brandishing a firearm that made you stop in your tracks; just feet from your boy. "Glad you could make it." 

"Rhodes," Steve named him, meeting your side. He was even and at ease, against your labored breathing. "Not surprised he'd send his _dog_ to do his dirty work."

"I don't believe you were invited, Captain Rogers," the man - Rhodes - sneered. He thumbed to the plane beside him. "This is only a two-seater; and you aren't getting on it." 

You flinched, looking at the machine; you'd never liked the idea of flying. "I'm not getting on it either." 

"Not even for your kid, Doctor?" Billy sniffled, punctuating Rhodes' threat. "What's Rogers offering that keeps you at his beck n' call? You can't have fallen that hard for that beast."

Steve bristled, fists tensing by his sides. You could feel an explosion mounting in him; you had to diffuse it. 

"What makes me so important?" You countered, licking your lips with a dry tongue. "If he can have whatever he wants, buy anything, why the hell does Stark want some ex-midwife butcher's daughter?" 

Rhodes, seeming altogether disinterested in the exchange, merely shrugged. "Because he doesn't have you," he was ready to leave, evidently on a schedule. "Make your call, Doc. You can come with me n' your boy, or you can stay on Rogers' burning ship and sink." 

There wasn't time enough for you to think, to consider the real evils at play before Steve spoke for you. "Take 'im then." 

Horror engulfed you as Billy screamed in protest; Rhodes grabbed him by the shoulder to keep him still. "What!? No, no don't take him--" 

"Go on," Steve's arm wrapped tight around your waist though you clawed and kicked for freedom. "He's just a kid; kids are replaceable." 

The only thing that kept the vomit in your throat was your shrieking sobs. "No! Please, I can't-- he's my boy, you--" 

"That's really the play you want t'make Rogers?" Rhodes seemed surprised. Steve was severe, but this was blatant abandonment. 

"My house, my call," Steve sounded almost as bored as Rhodes, paying no mind to your struggling. "You won't be takin' her - so take 'im." 

"Well then," with a jerk, Rhodes pulled Billy backwards and unholstered the gun at his hip. Careful aim fell on Steve, aimed right for his perfect teeth. "We'll have to do this the hard way." 

A shot rang out; and a body fell. 

"Mamma!!" Billy raced to you, arms tugged around your legs as Steve loosened his hold. You collapsed to your knees, arms coiled around him in the tightest hug you could manage. 

It took a moment before your mind caught up with what had transpired. 

Rhodes was on the ground, clutching at his wounded chest; struck right through the shoulder by a sniper's round. Steve took the few steps to kick away his enemy's weapon and grin down in sick satisfaction. 

"Y'remember my pal, Buck?" Steve was cool as ice, calm as could be while he pressed the heel of his shoe into the gushing bullet hole. "Still a damn good shot; sniper trainin' in the war paid off n' then some." 

Bucky watched through the lens of his rifle, laid across the back seat of the Buick. Sweat slicked his forehead; his plan had worked by a hair. 

You, in the meantime, cried along with your son, burying your face in his hair. You'd never allow him in harm's way again; and Tony Stark would answer to you. "Oh Billy," you whimpered, kissing the side of his head. "Oh darling-- I'm so sorry, I'm sorry." 

"Home, Mamma," he blubbered back. You hoisted him up with ease, adrenaline and relief rushing in your veins. "I wan' go home..." 

"Of course," you promised, taking one last glance at a smug Steve, still jeering, before making towards the car. "Of course baby, we're goin' straight home. Everyone's been looking for you, we missed you so much..." 

Your words silenced in his head, as through teary vision he watched Steve's foot connect with Rhodes' jaw. Once. Twice. Over again. 

It was ten minutes before Steve finally climbed into the Buick; blood spattering his trouser cuffs. 

______________________

  
Throughout the house that night, the Rogers' family celebrated. An important player in Stark's circle was out of commission, Billy was back home; it was wins all around. Music hummed in the parlor, the Commandos and lesser thugs passing around brown and clear liquors in raucous revelry; the Maximoffs welcomed back had brought their own considerable supply of vodka and debauchery. Steve took every toast with heady grace, a half-soused Wanda languishing his lap; he was on top of the world for a multitude of reasons. He'd still not shared the happy news - you'd begged that he keep it quiet, just for a few days - but he was floating in excitement, practically giddy. He'd be a father; and he'd make the world ready for his boy. 

All of this was a dull roar beneath you. Once at home, you'd taken Billy up to your cloister immediately; he didn't need to make an appearance for those below to know his safety. He didn't need more upheaval; he needed peace. 

You had him tucked up in your bed, his little body between yours and the slant of the roof, humming a lullaby and thanking every god and goodness you could that he was alive and safe once more. True, he'd barely spoken since getting home - he'd thanked Steve stiffly before you'd pulled him up the stairs - but he was sleeping soundly now, a tiny hand curled around the edge of your own. 

You felt brief serenity - but you knew it wouldn't last past morning. There was too much going on within the house, and within yourself; both emotionally and biologically. More so than ever, you could not run; Steve was planted in you now, and with that you were planted to his grounds. Your mind fretted over how to tell Billy, how could you explain it? How could you keep him, or the seed growing in you, as safe as you were in that moment? 

Not with Steve around; that much was certain. You'd heard the splinter of bone at the hangar. Worries, plans, ideas and confrontations whirled around your head before you found fitful sleep; the sounds below a quiet enough din to lull you off, ceasing finally near dawn. 

And with dawn came a rapping at your door; gentle enough not to rouse Billy, but enough to wake you. 

You'd grown used to Steve's erratic visits at all hours - which surprised you all the more when a different set of blue eyes met yours behind your door. 

"Bucky?" Sleep and confusion hindered your thought as you rubbed your eyes. He swayed in your doorway, cheeks and nose pink, his eyes wet. "W-what are you doing up here?" 

"I..." he didn't seem to know himself. Bracing against the staircase wall, his head dipped; half drunk, half ashamed. "I came t' a-apologize." 

"What for?" You rasped, keeping your volume down. "Bucky, without you, who knows what would've happened, you saved my son--" 

"If it weren't f'me there wouldn't have been a need f'savin'," he sighed, mopping his cold hand across his heated face. "If I... this was all m'fault, Y/N, I'm so sorry." 

"I-I don't understand," he had you flummoxed, your head shook lightly. "What're you saying?" 

He raised his head, and in his expression broke the guilt, lies and torment he'd held onto for months. "Nat... Nat wouldn't have gone t'Tony... if I hadn't gone first." 

Cold truth flew down your spine; revelations felt like ice water. "Why... no, it was Nat, she ran..." 

"She took things too far," his tone wobbled, as did fresh tears in his eyes. "But I talked to 'im first. I-It wasn't s'posed to be anythin' crazy, just rough Steve up a bit at the bar, take 'im down a peg -- and then his man pulled that gun, n' it all went t'hell--" 

"--the night he was shot," The time line fell into place in your slowly waking mind. Steve's home was in a far worse state than anyone knew. "Why... why would you do this?" 

His head wagged, brown hair loose and frazzled. "He... he's gettin' outta control," he whispered, like he was cursing his friend. "Talkin', talkin' about takin' out the Starks, goin' international, takin' hits on people... it's too much... it's not the Steve I know," the years began their descent down his face, dribbling off his chin. "I-I just wanted 'im to stay in his lane, keep him from gettin' killed-- I never meant for Billy or you--" 

The silent sobs overtook him then, brought to his knees on that final stair. Bucky Barnes, closest confidante and oldest friend, had unwittingly called an assassination on Steve Rogers; and with his deception, the house was beginning to fall. 

It just needed a little more work. 

"You saw him getting worse; and did what you thought you had to," you crouched before him and laid a gentle hand against his. "Then you know what I know." 

His repentant blue eyes blinked at you. 

"Steve Rogers needs to be stopped." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we'll be back to our regularly scheduled smut in the next chapter ;) 
> 
> For now, let me know what you think! You all keep me so inspired. Whenever I feel low about my writing, I go and read your kind words and I find my strength again! I love you guys ♡♡♡


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A buuunch of smut and shit going down ;) and we meet a new character!

Manhattan was burning. 

With Billy's kidnapping, Stark had thrown down the gauntlet and Steve had brought on a war. While newspapers wrote of James Rhodes, battered and broken in hospital, Steve cheered. When the mutilated body of a young Russian woman came floating up at Stark's leisure yacht, putting him under investigation, Steve laughed. 

He had his men out and causing mayhem with newfound vigor. First a series of molotovs flew through the windows of a Stark-owned machine shop; four injured. Then there was a fire started at a nightclub Stark attended; three burned, dozens with lung damage. 

Steve was indeed raining down pure hell upon the island of Manhattan, as he'd sworn to do. Though he himself hardly lifted a finger, it was his word and his careful planning that was shrinking the Stark empire, bit by bit. 

You'd protested, insisted that he was being brutal, vicious. Innocents were being hurt, how far was too far? 

He'd simply kiss your cheek and run his hands over your middle. "It'll be far enough once the world is safe for my son." 

Apparently what that meant was a world full of ashes; where only a lone brownstone still stood. 

Out of necessity, and partially your own fears, Billy was pulled out of public school in favor of private lessons. The board of education didn't question it; not when it had been Steve waltzing into his classroom to take him back home. There were too many unknowns and possible threats to let him continue on there; kept at home, he would be safest. 

Billy didn't argue, despite adoring his lessons and his teachers and his friends; though Billy said little of anything anymore, even to you. Everything was a yes or no, a thank you or a please. He wasn't the vibrant little boy he'd been. You'd never stop wondering if he had met with something terrible while in Stark's grip; or if seeing Steve as he truly was had merely shocked him into silence. 

You'd yet to tell Billy about his new sibling; or anyone else, for that matter. By your best guess, counting back, you were only two months into your pregnancy. Still in the first third of the journey, there was still much that could go wrong; you'd told Steve as much when he pouted over not getting to tell his closest friends. Reluctantly, he'd acquiesced to your will; and the bun in your oven was still under wraps. 

That didn't mean he wasn't celebrating, at any possible moment; and to him, celebrating was engaging in what had got you there in the first place. 

It was in one such _celebration_ that you found yourself knelt on his bed, your knees wobbling and slipping on his linens, while he blanketed himself over you; pushed as deep as he could possibly go.

Of late, it was his favorite place to be. 

Draped over your back, he'd buried his face in your hair while his hips rocked into you. The subtle smack of his flesh on yours and the glide of his muscles against you was maddening. He'd lost his hurry, now that you were carrying; in turn it was overwhelming. It meant he'd hardly pull away, barely even thrusting, and left you full to bursting - your head spinning and your toes curling. 

The logical half of you was vexed by his constant want; the beast in you relished every second and touch. Your hormone-steeped brain broke the tie and happily lounged in his constant fervor. 

It was only when he cupped your stomach that your fog cleared slightly. 

"Mm... can't believe my kid's in there," he muttered at the nape of your neck, kisses decorating your hairline. He rolled his hips and his length seemed to swell, drawing up a groan in you. "Gon' be amazin', watch you get all round with him..." 

"I--ah!!" His teeth found purchase at your ear, teasing as his tongue soothed; he timed it with another push, your channel twitching in carnal bliss. "I-I'm already round, Steve." 

"Even better than righ' now," he husked back, his unoccupied hand sliding the length of your arm, up to twine his fingers between yours. "I'll know-- I'll know it's 'cause o'me, that you're makin' my baby in there-- oh fuck, what that does to me--" 

You moaned unabashedly as his teeth grazed and nibbled the meat of your shoulder - thank heavens Wanda was out at Saks. Steve had been finding any and every excuse to to send her out; his only interest was time spent between your legs. 

"Oh ya love it too, don't'cha?" You could hear the smirk in his tone, and your insides tightened past your will. "Oh y'do - ya want everybody t'see, t'know you're mine now, don't'cha? All fuckin' mine..." 

In reality, you felt the opposite - terrified now even more that you would be a target - but your body, fertile and responsive, ate up the praise and still demanded more. "Oh god--" 

"Say it," he murmured, squeezing at the flesh of your belly. He matched your panting, spicing in his own grunts and hums. In you, he felt steeped in heaven; even sweeter still. "Say you're mine, Doc-- fuck, feel so good..." 

"Y-yours," even with your sex-addled brain and deceptive thoughts, that lie was the hardest to force past your lips. He ran his hand lower, deft fingers sliding past your mound to tease your bud of nerves; the lie grew a little easier. "I-I'm yours-- ohh, oh Steve..." 

"Yeah, that's it," his grip was tight on your hand, his digits rough and rapid at your sex; he chased your orgasm even more than his own. "C'mon doll, let it go; I got'cha, give in--" 

You wanted to hold on - truly you did. You wanted to wriggle away, have this time be the last time, just not cave to his whims; but your earthly cravings dominated your moral high road. 

With tears pricking your eyes, you cried out, what started as his name and became a moan, while sparks and shocks ignited in your core and throughout every edge of your flesh. Your mind once again tumbled away, yet you could still feel your contracting walls, locking him in like a vice grip, milking his cock as if you were not already quite laden. 

And in turn, his body served it's purpose; pumping, painting your insides, hopeful, promising white, even when the promise of a new life had already been made. It only thrilled him more; and he crowed and growled in release, your own name hideous music to your ears. 

Your animal purred and howled in victory; and you buried your face in his bedspread, hiding your tears behind breathy whines. 

How you begged for greater options. 

He didn't pull away, not for a long few minutes. He remained half-stiff, still snug in your sex, happy to feather his lips across every inch of your skin he could reach. The hand he'd gripped so tight was almost bruised, and he stroked it tenderly, apologetically; even when madly in love, he couldn't keep himself from inflicting pain. 

Your breathing tapered out into shallow, even breaths; reality stark and bleak around you once again. You were sticky, hot, drenched in varying fluids; you wanted nothing more than a bath, and dreaded that your body would crave the same coupling in mere hours. Even your physical being fought you in your resistance of Steve; it had already willfully and eagerly given in. 

"That was amazin', mamma," your blood turned to ice; and fresh nausea hit your belly. How dare he name you that? What right had he to do so - or was there anything to keep him from it? "You're always exactly what I need." 

That was enough of that. 

You managed to scrounge up your strength and scrambled free from his grasp; you both had matching winces as you uncoupled. He watched with a confused frustration as you threw on your robe, now something he kept hidden in his closet, and tied it forcefully. 

"I don't know why you have to talk like that." You muttered, trying to sweep your hair any which way to cover his love-bites; he marked you like a territorial teenager. 

"Like what?" He frowned, leaning up on his forearms. "S'all pillow talk; y'don't seem to mind it when we're hot n' heavy." 

"That's--" you scoffed, embarrassment in your cheeks. "That's different and you know it. Calling me m-- all this about _needing_ me--" 

"I do, darlin'," he insisted. He reached out his strong arm like a grabby child. "There's nothin' I need more'n you; I love you. Come back to bed." 

"N' does Wanda know you feel that way?" 

He winced again; this time out of guilt. You knew he wouldn't fly into a rage now; since he'd put you in your state, he'd been gentle, almost patient. Just another facade. 

"C'mon Doc, y'know me n' Wanda aren't some grand romance," he pushed up to his feet, still naked as a jaybird. "It's just give n' take; her brother's got the docks I need, and she's got a steppin' stone and arm candy." 

"Does she know it's all for show, Steve?" You swiveled on your heel, casting him in a judgemental glare. "For that matter, what do you plan to tell her when _I_ start to show?" 

You ignored the twitch of his cock at that image. "We'll figure somethin' out," he shrugged, squeezing at the tension in your shoulders. "N' she's smart enough to know that she's usin' me just like I'm usin' her." 

"Is she?" You didn't mean it as an insult; it was a fair question. Wanda was so blatantly enamored with Steve, the lifestyle he provided for her. Her rose-colored glasses were so thick she couldn't see the obvious in front of her face. "She doesn't deserve all these lies. She deserves to know." 

His upper lip tugged in a grimace. "Well she _can't_ know any of this right now," his voice was lyrical, bugging his eyes as if he were explaining something to a child. "I need t'keep her brother happy, and that means keeping her happy." 

"Her brother," you remarked, distaste on your tongue. From day one you'd not liked that silver-haired git. "I've hardly ever seen the man, what could be so important that you'd toy with a woman's life to get it?" 

His expression matured, seriousness in his tone. "He's got a dock, Y/N," he explained. "Moreover, one small enough that the cops tend to overlook it. How else d'you think we get away with bringin' in new product?" 

Your brow furrowed, eyes narrowed; he'd never mentioned his _product_ before. "What... what is it you're bringing here?" 

He paused - but what harm could you do? Your life was tied to his now. "We've got a deal with some suppliers in Norway. They send us the best they have; we sell... everybody profits," he cast his eye away. "Just... some more than others." 

"That doesn't answer my question." You said flatly, crossing your arms. 

"That's the answer you're gettin'," he was firm, running his hands down the length of your arms and up again. "Wanda's just... a necessary evil right now. We won't have to hide forever; and this baby," his hand went to your middle again while his lips pressed your neck. "He'll be born under _my_ name. No lies. No secrets." 

You weren't left any more assured. 

"Stop," you shoved away from his kiss, and he actually relented. You started plucking your clothes from the floor - he'd ripped them off of you hurriedly, as soon as Wanda had left - until they were curated in your arms. "I'm going to change in the bathroom; then I'm seeing to Billy. Buck's watched him long enough." 

Steve, to his credit, nodded with a sigh. "Fine," before he let you leave, he caught your upper arm. Sincerity broke on his face, as well as whatever he must've thought love was. "You know I'll marry you one day. I promise." 

You managed not to throw up on his bare feet. 

______________________

  
Things between you and Bucky had been strenuous; to put it lightly. 

He still killed under the Rogers' name, took part in Steve's ridiculous power grabs, and looked after Billy whenever he was asked, but since your suggestion, the night Billy had come home, he'd ran cold. More so, he'd ran scared. 

Steve, with his innumerable flaws and vicious traits, was his best friend and oldest companion. They'd saved each other more often than either could count, and their lives had been laced together, sinking into the vast ocean of organized crime, since they were old enough to start trouble. Of course he'd be protective. He wouldn't see his friend dead; nor would he be the one to pull the trigger.

Your goals didn't line up quite as neatly as you hoped they would - and it brought you back to square one. No prospects, no options and nowhere to turn; there seemed to be no answers. Perhaps you could kill him yourself - did you have that in you? - but what would become of Billy when Steve's lessers found out? You could run; but you had no doubts that he would find you, and keep you hidden and caged for good measure. 

You'd found yourself drifting back to the conflict in the airplane hangar, of the offer made. What would have happened had you said yes? Could you truly have left, or would Steve have killed you on the spot? His property couldn't just up and leave him. 

For that matter, was the Devil of Manhattan any better than the Beast of Brooklyn? Or could it have been even worse? 

You wished you'd never walked into that butcher shop; never spoken a word to Steve when he'd came for you with a job offer and a glimmer of hope. You wished away the night in the basement, amongst blood and manipulation and Steve's ever-so convincing kisses. 

You ruffled Billy's hair, doing his numbers at the kitchen table. You wished you'd never brought him into this illicit world; you'd never forgive yourself for that. 

You sighed, clutching yourself together to keep from collapsing into nothing. You were finally, completely without hope.

______________________

  
And then hope rang a doorbell. 

A weekend had passed and you were allowing Billy some play time in the attic - tinker toys had taken the place of the erector set - when a knock came at the door. It was Steve, wearing a blatantly distrustful expression. 

"Doc," he spoke curtly, that much more confusing. "Someone at the door for you." 

"Me?" Hardly anyone knew you well enough to know you lived there. Steve nodded, and you muttered an agreement. You weren't about to leave Billy in Steve's care - or lack thereof - so you picked him up, cradling him against your body as his arms ringed around your neck. He'd lost weight.

Steve followed on your heels as you made your descent down all three flights, a true surprise standing in the doorway of the Rogers' house.

A police officer; a woman, no less. 

"Miss Y/L/N?" Her voice was cool but professional, removing her cap to address you. 

"That's me." 

"I'm Officer Hill; good afternoon," she stuck out a gloved hand and you took it; a firm shake. You were all too aware of the eyes watching from behind you. "I apologize for our tardiness, but I'm here to follow up on a possible missing persons case?" 

Your mouth gaped - you'd never withdrawn your statement, as Steve had demanded. 

"Oh--" you jostled Billy, holding him tighter as if she might take him. "It-- it turned out to be a misunderstanding. We figured it all out - he's right here - Billy, say hello?" 

He turned his head towards the officer, bit didn't say a word. He only clutched at your blouse. 

"Hello young sir," she gave him a tight-lipped smile, before turning her attentions back on you. "I'm glad he's alright. Reporting the disappearance of a child is a serious thing--" 

"I-I know, I'm very sorry," you wanted her to go; but on the other hand, you wanted to beg for protection. "I really did intend to call and clear up the situation; I guess I just got a little distracted." 

"I see," Hill's eyes wandered up behind you, no doubt noticing the small crowd of known criminals gathering at your back. "...I hope all else is well _here_ then? Nothing to report?" 

You wished you could spill every secret, every horrible thing you'd seen and heard in the past months. You could send each and every man within to the chair; but that wasn't what you wanted. With tears rimming your eyes, you swallowed the lump of truths in your throat. "No." You lied. 

She didn't believe you, either. 

"Right," she cleared her throat and straightened out her uniform, replacing the cap over her neat dark hair. "I'm glad the issue has resolved itself. If you should need anything," she took your hand again in a shake. "The NYPD will be glad to serve." 

As she withdrew and made her departure, you clasped tight a small piece of card in your hand. An olive branch. A lifeline. 

You forced the hope off your face as you shut the door, rubbing Billy's back as you turned around. Steve, Bucky, and half the Commandos looked back at you with varying expressions of distrust and awe. Suddenly, you were on trial. 

"Bucky, take Billy upstairs," Steve's blue eyes never stopped drilling into you, a hand gripping the bannister. "I need to talk to our good Doctor." 

In turn, Bucky glanced between you and Steve; he worried for your life. "Boss--" 

"_Now_, Buck." your mouth was dry as you stepped back onto the first landing, Bucky gentle in taking Billy into his arms. Your boy didn't fuss. He didn't make a sound, just hugged onto Bucky and stared over his shoulder as he was taken up to safety, and you were left with Steve. 

The remaining men dispersed; they knew this would be a private affair. 

His hand was too tight as it took yours, practically dragging you through the house and down into the basement. It felt different; underused. The smell had changed; it was more of cleanser than blood now. Somehow it upset you even further. 

Steve's broad form blocked the doorway as he stared you down with a storm in his eyes. "What the hell was that?" 

Your nerves were cat meat - your palms sweating. "It was nothing--" 

"A fuckin' cop just showed up on my _goddamn_ doorstep," he hissed, lurching towards you. "and looking for you-- please, how is that nothing!?" 

"Sh-- I forgot to rescind the request, that's _all_." you spat back, heart thundering. 

"I told you no cops; I told you that and you couldn't keep that straight--" 

"My son was _missing_!" You were yelling now; your blood was up. "Excuse me if I forgot something during the hardest days of my damned life!! And I physically showed her Billy, so what reason would she have for coming around here again!?" 

He scoffed a mean chuckle, shaking his head. "You think they don't know whose house this is? You will not be the weak link in my chain--" 

_**"I am not weak!!"**_ your hand flew wide, curled into a fist; and suddenly Steve cupped his bloodied nose. His anger and doubt were stunned, staring down at you totally flummoxed. "I kept looking-- I made you keep looking. I have kept my boy alive through any means I could and I have made my way in your den of bloody wolves. I have stood my ground against Tony fucking Stark and I've pulled bullets out of your own flesh-- you don't _ever_ get to call me weak." 

He didn't speak; his lip wobbled as if the words were scared to spill, and he finally managed to blink, astounded and quieted. You still couldn't quite believe it yourself; but the blood coating his hand stood as testament to your apparent mean right hook. 

Panting, you closed your eyes calmly, and pushed back your hair with your smarting hand. "I... am not a weak link. That woman showing up, it was just a coincidendence. I've done nothing to wrong you, Ste--" 

He shut your mouth with his own; his tongue silencing your resistance. Both hands knitted in your hair, keeping you still, steady as he explored your mouth like a new man. The tang of iron came with his kiss, and - shamefully - you were heating up in the worst way in the best places. 

His blood slicked your skin as he pulled away, pressing you towards your underused surgical table. "I get it," he grunted, his breath rapid as he lifted you onto the tabletop, your skirt hiking up as he pressed between your thick legs. "I get it Doc, 'm sorry-- you're not weak, fuck, you're on damn fire--" he thrust his kisses on you again, teeth biting and tugging, a hungry animal. 

How you hated yourself, kissing him with equal craving, fumbling and tugging at his belt. Hormones - that's all it was. Your body needed satiating; and damn if he wasn't perfect for that. 

He had your stockings ripped and you had his fly undone in record time; and he was throbbing against your sex in the next second. 

He sank into you with a snarl, plunging into you with animalistic urgency, foreheads pressed together so he could watch your dazed eyes. "Fuck, I love you like this," he growled, pulling on your hair and making you keen. "So strong, nobody fucks with you, shit-- you angel--" 

"Unhh-- yes, there, Steve _there_," you praised and dug your nails into his clothed shoulders. Conscience was damned, morals in the wind; when it came to making you lose yourself, to digging up your base desires, Steve was second to none. "Oh god ohh--!" 

He breathed a laugh, wrapping his arms around you and pounding as deep as his hips would allow; he wouldn't last long, but he'd get you there first. The basement echoed with your gasps and moans and cries; they filled his ears and doubled his excitement. "Yeah that's it, moan for me, that's it, sing--" 

And you did; but it wasn't him you moaned for. From past his rippling shoulder you saw him, dumbstruck and frozen at the foot of the stair, two rounded blue eyes leered back at yours. Bucky was dead silent - didn't move a muscle, simply gaping and shocked. 

You didn't alert Steve of the intrusion; nor did you tell him it was the most intense orgasm you'd had in months. Nobody needed to know that but you. 

Once Steve was through plastering your walls and folds with his seed, he plastered kisses across your face in between wiping off the smear of his own blood. 

"I know she didn't mean nothin'," he cooed; so docile, now that he'd fucked the anger from his body. "And you did so good; sent her away. That's my girl, that's my girl." 

Satisfied, he allowed you to go back to your boy, back to your normalcy; you'd given him no reason to doubt you. You'd even granted him a chaste peck before ascending; you were falling for him, he was sure of it. 

You had other things on your mind. 

______________________

  
Wanda had returned from yet another shopping trip, mere minutes after your encounter with Steve - just under the wire, but perfect timing. She was latched to him all night, through dinner, long past his gang went to their beds; and you had no doubt that she laid, glued to his side, in his bed right at that second. 

It couldn't have worked better; for once, time was on your side. 

Well past midnight, you turned the business card over in your fingers, studying the name and phone number printed on both sides. You'd been quick - slid it into Billy's tiny, corduroy pants pocket before handing him to Bucky - and it had paid off. Any time, the NYPD would be there to serve; that's what she said. You'd seen the fear in Steve, the rattling. 

And you would make them listen to what you had to say. 

The whole house was quiet, and you were a ghost, travelling down past sleeping wolves and making for the exit. You'd paused in front of Bucky's door. No, it wasn't time yet; when you came to him again, you'd do so with a plan. You knew you couldn't make the call from Steve's own line; he'd find out. You didn't know how, but he'd know. 

Thank heavens for pay phones.

The nearest one stood at the intersection of State and Pacific. The cold night air bit your cheeks and nipped your heels, quickening your step to the great glass monolith. You could hardly believe what you were doing; opening the doors, shutting yourself into the stillness of the box, studying the grimy public phone before you. 

Hand on your belly, you took a deep breath. "I am not weak." 

You fished out the card, and lifted the receiver. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O you're stronger than you think. 
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you like!! They really help keep me focused. This time of year, it's hard for me to stay inspired and passionate about my work. When I get to talk things out with all of you, it truly helps. ♡♡♡♡


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lie, a doctor, a kiss, and fury. 
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> Extreme non-con   
Gagging

The secret had to come out. 

Billy was the first person to tell; he was your only real family, and had a right to the truth. Sitting him down, a Twinkie in hand, and trying to explain that he'd soon have a baby brother or sister was awkward and, frankly, stomach-turning. 

He knit his little brows, cake crumbs on his pursed mouth. He poked at your belly, expecting something to happen. "There's a baby in you?" 

You couldn't stop a smile at his curiosity; you were the same at his age. "That's right, darling; they're still growing, but in seven or so months, you'll get to meet them." 

He was leering at your middle, still processing the information. "... how did it get there?" 

Your face turned red and your stomach flipped; you'd hoped to avoid this part. "Well... you remember how we talked about the birds and the bees?" He nodded - he had received *the talk early in his life. "Um... so a... a very nice bee came along, and... and now there's a new little bud that's going to blossom in the spring." 

Billy wasn't buying into the imagery. "Who's the bee?" 

You blanched - a child's mouth was honest, and the wrong word to the right person could spell disaster. So you told a considerable lie. 

______________________

  
Steve didn't care for the story you'd made up, even if it was just for Billy. He wanted full claim over his own child; but you were quick to remind him that he had his own resident in house that couldn't know the truth either. 

It soured him some - he was bratty, having had to make so many concessions since you'd fallen pregnant - but he agreed. His unborn son would be safer for it. 

His agreement meant that telling Bucky came next - he'd been roped in the moment the words left your lips. 

He didn't like it either; and this time, you didn't miss the flinch in his lip or the sadness in his eyes, when he learned your condition. You still hadn't discussed that night in the basement. 

______________________

  
Steve's goons came next. They were allowed to know the truth; they'd been privy to your relationship with their boss ever since those first groans floated up from the basement. 

Cheers and whoops rang out for Steve as his underlings shook his hand, clapped him on the back. They wished health for his little boy, boasted how certain they were that he'd be just like his father. You stood with your back to a wall; you were only a vessel for the good news, for the future. 

After toasting Steve's virility - you wished to sink into the floor - they too had to be caught up on the lie. It wasn't too much of a stretch, not for someone already in the dark; but more than a few of the men gave Bucky forlorn looks of sympathy. He'd never asked to be tied up in all this. 

______________________

  
"You're pregnant!?" 

Wanda threw her arms around you in elation. She was thrilled - and, as usual, the last to know. 

Everything was wrapped up neatly now, as you stood in her uncomfortable embrace, surrounded by the Rogers' gang applauding, pretending they didn't already know. The right lies had been told, enough to sew a story, and though Steve glowered at Wanda's back, he couldn't do a thing to protest without revealing his indiscretions. 

A little part of you was warmed to see him so helpless. _'The shoe on the other foot.' _

"Oh this is so exciting!! A baby in the house; oh how wonderful!" She gushed. "And little Billy, he must be so giddy to be a big brother!" 

Billy, comfortable in Bucky's protective hold, gave a small smile. The lie suited him too. 

"Congratulations, Doc," Steve was professional and rigid, but any knowing person could see the cloud hanging over his head. "Great news." 

"Thank you, Steve." You couldn't be more or less than cordial; you were already wondering how he'd behave behind closed doors later on. 

"Who's the father?" Wanda blurted out in her excitement, only to cover her loose lips in embarrassment. "O-oh I'm sorry, that was so forward--" 

"It's fine; who wouldn't be curious..." you squeezed her hand, before glancing around the room; first sharing a look with your baby's father, and then with his stand in. 

"It's Bucky." 

______________________

  
"I hate this!" 

Bucky's hands flew up then hit the steering wheel in exasperation. His eyes met yours in the rear view mirror, pleading and tired. "I hate this, Y/N." 

You sighed and rubbed at your temples. "I know," He was taking you to your first doctor's visit - like a good expectant father - as well as to the first step of your plan. "I'm sorry I pulled you into this, I just couldn't tell Billy it was Stev--"

"I don't care about that," he shook his head, starting up the car. "The kid's terrified of 'im; and I don't mind playin' house if you need me to. It's this plan o' yours-- I don't see it workin', hon." 

"Well it has to work," you replied, running your hand across your buttoned coat. "I ran out of options, and I'm runnin' out of time even faster. Where else could I have turned?" 

"Y'turned to me first," his tone was sulky, turning along his beloved Brooklyn streets. "We could'a worked somethin' else out, eventually. You jumped the gun--" 

"I did no such thing," your words were cutting, so you kept yourself gentle. "You don't want him dead, but you want him to stop; if we can make this work, that's just what we'll get." 

"_If_ we can make this work," he mimicked you, shoulders slumped. His worried baby-blues met you again. "You sure they won't hang him?" 

You bit your lip and nodded; you hated Steve, but even still you didn't have it in you to see him swing. "Its one of my conditions," you explained. "In our agreement." 

"Hope you got that in writin', doll." He sighed, pushing a haphazard few strands of hair; it was nerves more than for appearance. Being honest, he worried for himself too; he'd done just as many horrible things as Steve. He just wasn't as boastful about them. 

You studied the back of his head, his reflection in the mirror. You hadn't had a moment like this, truly alone with him, in ages; and there was something that had to be broached. "Bucky... about that night in the basement--" 

"--please," you didn't see how his hand flexed on the wheel, missed how his tongue darted over his lips. He'd had that sight burned into his eyelids ever since. "We... we don't have t'talk about it." 

"I think we ought," you insisted; there had been a tension since then, and you needed to set the awkwardness aside and deal with the incident head on. "I-I wanted to apologize for you having seen that; it was entirely tactless of... of us." 

"Y'don't have to apologize," he insisted, still trying to will away the image heating up in his brain. "I know... you n' Steve got a certain relationship. Wouldn't be takin' you to this doctor if you didn't." 

Your cheeks pinked up; he was right, but it was still embarrassing. "You must think me incredibly crude." 

"No," he said firmly, stopping at a red light. "I know you're not doin' anything y'don't have to. Sometimes that means... doin' things you aren't proud of." 

Your eyes fluttered shut at that. Steve had taken you the euphoria and back countless times, but to think of it at all brought you nothing but shame. "Haven't had much to be proud of lately." 

Bucky's mouth pursed into a line, continuing on their route. "Well... let's see how this goes. Might have somethin' to be proud of by the end of the day." 

______________________

  
Your hands fidgeted and you picked at your nails, waiting alone in the examination room. The table beneath you was a real one, padded and hygienic, a counter across from you was lined in glass jars containing sterile tools. It smelled clean, immaculate; making it familiar and nauseating at once. It was a grim reminder of how far you'd fallen. 

This was your shot to climb back out. 

A nurse entered, dressed in blue, an unnecessary mask over her mouth. It wasn't for sterility, but camouflage. Greyish eyes glinted at you before she pulled it down, her face tight with determination. 

"Miss Y/L/N." 

"Officer Hill," you greeted politely. This had been the plan all along. You didn't particularly need a physician, not yet; your body had yet to do anything that your years of experience hadn't trained you for. However, Steve didn't need to know that. "Thank you for meeting me here." 

"Glad to," the officer settled against the wall opposite to her, crossing her arms. "Meeting at an obstetrician's office; this is a new one for me." 

"I figured it'd be the only locale that the average man wouldn't ask about. You know how squeamish they can be." 

She hummed a laugh before striking you with a knowing stare. "...are you really pregnant, then?" 

You shied slightly, glancing down at your knit fingers. "...I am, yes." 

"Is it... is it Rogers'?" 

The truth felt like needles in your skin. "Yes, it is." 

Her fingers tapped against her folded arm. "That could complicate things."

"It won't," you insisted; confidence in that. "He may have fathered this child, but that doesn't mean I'll go soft on him. It only gives me further cause to see him away." 

"But you don't want him dead?" Hill cocked a brow. 

You shook your head, imagining Steve's intimidating visage. "Not dead, no. That's no punishment," a coldness filled you, your knuckles white as you made fists. "I want him without option or freedom. I want him to spend the rest of his days with as little control over his life as possible... to know he'll never be a free man again." 

You surprised the young officer; in nearly all the domestic cases she'd seen, there was still some modicum of love. There was none there for you. 

"You know it won't be just him," she clarified. "He's not the only one with dirty hands in that house. His fabled Commandos, his partners, they'll fall too," she jerked her head towards the waiting room outside. "That helpful Mr.Barnes out there. Incriminating one is to incriminate them all. Are you ready to do that?" 

The ice around your heart didn't stop it from aching. This part was on you, and you alone. "Yes." 

This time, you seemed resolute and certain; and she believed your lie. 

"Then I think we can work out this deal, then," she decided. "But it will not be easy. As of now, we only really have your word and those of a few others in the community. Steve Rogers is fairly loved by the people of Brooklyn." 

_'If they only knew,'_ you grimaced outwardly._ 'If they knew what it was to live under his boot.'_ "What more do you need to bring him in?" 

"We have enough right now to bring him in for questioning, but we'd have to turn him loose eventually." 

"And if he knows you're looking into him, he'll close ranks," you spoke knowingly; he'd done the same during Natasha's betrayal. "So you need something real then." 

"Something tangible; that can't be refuted," she agreed. "His books, any written or recorded corrospondence with other gangs. What I wouldn't do for a photo of him in the act." 

You understood; and your task was doable. You'd become part of the furniture at the Rogers' house. An impartial, indifferent observer; or so they thought. It was only a matter of a time before Steve made a mistake, made something know; and you would make his world crumble. 

"I can do this, Officer Hill," you stood from the table, taller than you'd ever been. "I'll figure out how to get what you need; and Steve Rogers will never be a free man again." 

With that, you shared a fresh handshake - and the plan was hatched. 

______________________

  
The ride home from the doctor's office wasn't any less tense than the ride there. You'd shared with Bucky almost everything Hill had said; the need for tangible evidence, how secretive you'd need to be. You kept him in the loop; but although you'd sworn up and down that he wouldn't fall with Steve, his apprehension only mounted further. 

The crinkling of a pharmacy bag - proof you'd even been there - was the only noise in the car. 

Things remained tense and strained throughout the remainder of the day. Wanda, for once, wasn't glued to Steve's side; instead, she was glued to yours. She bubbled with questions and curiosity and wouldn't leave you alone. She only stopped staring at your rounding belly when you had to change a dressing on Dernier's leg. Still, she grilled you on if you could feel it kicking. 

It was incredibly grating; but it was driving Steve up the walls. With her constant presence, he couldn't ask you the questions he needed answered; how was _his_ baby, was he healthy, when would you be giving birth? Bucky was no help; he'd waited outside and could offer no important info. It was infuriating, and his patience for both you and Wanda running thin. He was close to snapping. 

After dinner, Wanda had insisted on an impromptu soiree in the parlor to celebrate the baby. She was two glasses of champagne in, while Bucky and the Commandos nursed tumblers of bourbon. Steve had drained his own glass immediately. 

You sipped at cordial and water. The overall sensation in the room was simmering anger, teamed with the dulcet tones of Perry Como on the radio. 

"So you're due in the spring?" Wanda hiccupped a giggle. 

"Slow down, honey." Steve monotoned, freshening up his drink. 

"Uh yes, spring," Bucky sat next to you, but aside from that, remained impartial. Billy was already tucked up in bed; how you wished to excuse yourself to go to him. "We're... very excited." 

"Oh that's so sweet! You must already have a long list of names," she chirped, leaning her head to Steve's shoulder as he sat down. "Something for the season maybe? There's Brooke, that would be very apropos, or Ivy, Blossom-- oh if it's a boy you can name him _James!_" 

Steve couldn't help sputtering on his drink. Brown liquor sprinkled on his collar. 

"Careful love!" Wanda sang. 

"We... we'll see what they're like when they're born." you let your hand rest on your belly; it'd become a habit now, almost a defense mechanism. Steve hadn't struck you since finding out, after all. 

"I'm sure you'll pick a fine name for the boy." Steve offered - even amidst lies, he still insisted his progeny was male. 

"Yep." That was all Bucky had uttered all night. 

Your glass was growing empty, and you wouldn't take another; you were queasy enough as it was._ 'I can squirrel away soon,'_ you hoped._ 'Pregnancy is tiring, after all.' _

"Ah... I can't imagine how elated you are; a new baby," she sounded envious, flicking meaningful eyes up to Steve. "Maybe one day I'll feel the same." 

"Yeah, we'll see." Steve's teeth clinked against his glass. Drained again. 

It was growing to be too much; the constant badgering, the fact that she hoped for the same fate you endured. You stood quickly, both hands tight on your glass. All eyes in the room peered up, waiting for your action. 

"I... I'm feeling a bit bushed," you stuttered, your own vision stuck on the carpet. "I think I'll be off to bed now." 

"G'night." Steve spat; he'd no doubt come to visit you later. 

"Good night, Y/N." Bucky's words were smooth and gentle, giving you a smile. 

"Wait!!" Wanda's protest stopped you before you took a step. She stared pointedly at Bucky, her brows at her hairline. "Bucky, aren't you going to kiss her good night?" 

_'Oh no.' _

The mere implication had you paling and Steve seeing red. The idea-- the concept felt like the aiming of a gun. "I-it'd hardly be appropriate," you were babbling now, searching empty air for excuses. "I'm-- I don't like public kissing like that; and I'm not-- he doesn't like to be ordered around--" 

And suddenly, Bucky's lips fell to yours. 

You hadn't noticed him stand, and didn't notice his hand on the small of your back until he'd already dipped you into a kiss. Your eyes were saucers, parallel to his closed lids; kissing you like it was the most normal thing on earth. His mouth felt strange - but not badly so, simply unfamiliar. His lips were softer, warm without being scorching. The kiss itself chaste and sweet, entirely proper - one might even say full of love. 

It was when he pulled away, and the gasps and awes echoed around the room, that you realized what a shot he'd taken. You didn't offer another word before scurrying off; Steve's eyes sharp and venomous on your back. 

You didn't even make it to the last staircase before he caught up with you. 

"Where do you think you're goin', Doc?" His breathing was heavy and his grip was bone bending on your arms, pulling you towards him and off your kilter. "Y'got somethin' y'want t'tell me?" 

"Please, Steve-- I didn't know he was going to do that," you begged and squirmed as he dragged you towards his room; only to bypass it altogether. "I'm sure he meant nothing by it, he was just trying to quell Wanda--" 

"_Sure_ he was," he sneered sarcastically; then you realized where he was dragging you to. He near kicked Bucky's door off its hinges as he threw you into the empty room, your bottom landing on the hardwood. "What I wan'na know is what made him think it'd be okay to kiss you in the first place?" 

You were panting beneath him now, terrified in the shadow of a jealous titan. "I don't know!" You insisted, fighting back tears. "H-he was just going along with the story--!" 

"The story _you_ made up!" You yelped as he dragged you up by your hair, fist in your scalp. You clutched his arm as he pulled you to Bucky's bed, spread with one of his grandmother's quilts. "This what you wanted all along, doll? You played me, played him to get yourself into his bed?" He grinned viciously, tossing you violently against the knitting. "Well, y'did it!" 

"No!!" You couldn't hold it down now, sobbing as he spread your legs with his knees, thick paws dragging down your stockings, forcing off your shoes. "Please, don't, I don't want him, I don't want this!! I'll-- I'll scream!" 

"Oh will you?" He growled. Nylon balled up in his hand, then he was stuffing it into your mouth, muffling you and your crying. "Try it, n' see how much worse I can make shit for you." 

You balked at his threat, tears now silent as they streamed down your cheeks. Your eyes focused on the ceiling as he tore away your last defense, undergarments falling shredded to Bucky's floor. You knew what he wanted; what he'd take, regardless. 

"I don't even wan'na look at ya." he heaved you over onto your stomach, forcing up your modest skirt til you were wide on display. 

You squeezed your eyes shut; but your ears were receptive to the pop of buttons, the rustle of fabric. His angry, hard flesh was pressing into you before you knew it; and he instantly set a thunderous, vengeful pace. This wasn't sex, it was ownership. 

"You think you have any right, even lookin' at another man?" He hissed; his voice was low. You pictured his lackeys keeping Wanda busy downstairs, keeping her distracted during your lesson. You wondered if Bucky had reacted at all. "You--are--_mine_, Doc!" 

His length burned your insides, unprepared and hardly slick against his intrusion. You didn't fight; refused to struggle as he held you down, your cheek imprinting the pattern of Bucky's quilt. You squeaked and whimpered, blood rushing south, but only to soothe what was already tearing and smarting. 

"This is mine," you groaned as he gripped your belly; meaning his baby. His breath was hot on your neck, his teeth grazing your ear. "This baby is mine, no matter who you make believe otherwise. You think you got other options? You think he even _wants_ you? Knowing you're mine?" 

You shuttered him out as much as you could; but he was swelling, pulling your hair as well as squeezing your stomach. His nails near sliced in. _'I am not weak, I am not weak, I am not weak...' _

But you felt so powerless as he finally unloaded his rage, and his seed, deep within your confines. Once more, he was all around and everywhere; even in his best friend's bed. 

He gasped over you, hips twitching, still buried in your heat. He studied the lines of your face, those he could see. His anger had hardly left him; but he was in a more docile state. 

"You're gettin' too close t'him," he murmured, words echoing in your ear. "From now on, y'don't say a word t'him unless you're supervised," he smoothed his hand over his red marks on your flesh. "Can't have you forgettin' you're mine... y'understand?" 

You nodded limply, staring across the knit. His fingers, softer now, tugged your ruined stockings from your mouth.

"Say you understand." 

"I understand." 

He sighed softly, and had the audacity to press a sweet kiss to your cheek. "Say 'I love you Steve'." 

Your eyes shut; time was running out. "I love you, Steve." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, this one was hard for me; my writing spark has dulled this week, so I am truly sorry if this chapter isn't up to par with my others. 
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you'd like; I could use a little positivity. ♡♡♡


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guests come to call...

_'It's only a matter of time. He's bound to slip up.' _

You stared up at the ceiling, formulating your next move. 

_'I just need to get into his office; must be something in that chaos of a desk I can use.' _

Your hips ached, but you dispelled it from your mind. Banishing the physical was getting to be easier. 

_'There has to be some scrap.... enough to indict him... and that'll bring him down.' _

A smile spread across your lips. 

_'I'll bring him down.' _

"Hey!!" 

With the snap of his fingers you snapped from your thoughts, met with Steve's irritated pout below you. Somewhere amidst your fantasy of his demise, you'd stopped rocking your hips; and his length was now twitching insistently inside you. 

"Eyes on me, Doc," he growled. He gripped your sides and began to push and pull you back into rhythm. You gulped down your disgust and took up the pace, meeting his gaze. "Could you at least focus on what you're doin'?" 

"I'm sorry Steve." You murmured; at least he'd readied you some before thrusting in this time. He'd been calmer since his savagery in Bucky's room; sated on your quelled spirit. 

The storm in his eyes ebbed away as you moved, barely sliding up before taking him fully. "You're forgiven." he decided, moving one hand slightly, to let his thumb fall lazily over your nub of nerves. 

You stuttered a gasp; the movement of your hips teamed with the press of his digit gave constant pressure, a coil in you tightening up. Damn him -- still able to make you fall apart, even with his beastly nature. 

He smirked at your reaction. 

"That's it, Y/N," he grunted encouragement. Satisfied with your swivels, he traced his second hand up and over your middle. Completely nude and unable to hide, you couldn't deny it any longer; you were starting to show. "Mm, fuck... see how good it can be when you behave?" 

Your nails dug into your palms, but you managed to keep moving; you were chasing your own climax by that point. "Y-yes..." he pressed down harder and a feral moan escaped. He grinned in triumph. 

"Yes... Good girl," he purred. He was getting impatient, his own hips bucking up to meet yours; he was eager to come too. "I hate when I have to be mean... it's so sweet when we're kind to each other, isn't it?" 

You could've drawn blood with how hard you bit your lip. "Y--es Steve--!" 

You abandoned the romantic, loving pretense; and put your body to work. Hands to his expansive chest, you leveraged your weight into a voracious grind. He was taken aback, eyes and mouth wide in surprise before his own groans tumbled free. It was a good way to shut him up. 

With the drag of nails down his chest and the squeezing of your muscles, you found release first; using him almost like a toy, bouncing and grinding as if he weren't even there. It was only his surprised whimper and a sudden warmth inside you that reminded you he was. 

He panted and gawked up at you, slowly winding down from his high; you hadn't been so eager for him in weeks. It gave him hope. 

"Fuck, Doc, that was gold," He mopped a hand across his brow, huffing out a laugh as he managed to gather himself. You were still trembling slightly, suddenly rather cold, above him. "Been ages since you rode me like that." 

You rested your palm on your own chest, your heart hammering within. "I... I don't know what came over me." 

"Should let it come over you more often," he grinned; that handsome, carefree smile was so disarming. You couldn't let that soften you. He swatted at your thigh, urging you up. "Can't lay here all day though; lots to do." 

You agreed with that as you rolled from him and he bounced to his feet, sated and energetic. There was plenty to do, plans to be made. 

The Rogers crime family was receiving guests. 

"What are they like?" You asked cautiously, tugging your dress back over your head, buttoning up the collar. "These _Odinsons?_" 

"Not sure yet," he shrugged into his button down. "We've only ever written; but if that's any tell, they're pretty damn good businessmen." 

_'Letters?'_ That had your attention. You hummed absently while rolling up your stocking, straightening your hair. That would be something to look for, at the right time. Wanda was expected back any second; she was with her brother, preparing themselves for the visit as well. 

"I'll want you at the dinner, y'know," you gave Steve a skeptical glance, which earned a laugh. "Y'might not be on my arm yet, but I want my business partners to know my wife has a seat at the table," he cupped your jaw with the blades of his hands, smoothing his thumbs across your cheeks. "And if anybody tries t'poison me, I'll need your medical expertise." 

You still grew sick at the thought of marriage to him, and you considered yourself a poisoner for a moment; but you forsook those for a sweet smile. "So long as I know Billy will be in good hands." 

"And he will," he soothed. "Sam n' Jim will be here with him." 

Your mouth seamed in an unhappy line. It irked you some - but Billy would at least be in better hands than the last pair you'd left him alone in. 

Steve's lips pressed to yours suddenly, reveling in what he felt was a loving affair. "Best get a move on, Doc," he murmured; his breath was clammy on your skin. "Can't have us caught just yet." 

_'And what does that mean?' _

______________________

  
God how you hated dressing up. 

Steve had picked out that little number himself; it felt a little much, even for a high profile dinner. Empire waisted, it hid your belly; but the royal blue satin of it was almost blinding. The neckline - or lack of one - plunged, showing off every gift god gave you. You tried not to dwell on it, but you felt as if your bosoms were staring back at you, and at anyone who looked your way. 

You sighed, taking up your clutch, fussing with a loose thread. You hated it; the performance, the lies, keeping your stories straight. It was dizzying; but you had to stay focused. You could do it. 

"You look pretty mamma," Billy had been sitting on your bed, swinging his knobbly knees while you'd put the finishing touches on your ensemble. "Like in the pictures and stuff." 

You gave him a real smile; he was the only man in your life truly worth smiling at. "Thank you, darling; wish I could take you as my date tonight." 

He fidgeted with his digits while you crossed to him, crouching to his level. He was nervous, without a doubt; he'd not been without you or Bucky since the abduction. "...you're sure I'll be OK? Nobody's gon'na snatch me up?" 

"No, my love," you beamed, smoothing down his locks. You'd have to give them a cut soon. "I'll be back before you know it; and til then, Sam and Jim will keep you safe and sound. You've got some books picked out for storytime?"

He held up his latest favorites; The Little Prince and Stuart Little. "Yes Mamma." 

"Then you'll have a lovely night." You leaned in and planted a kind kiss on his forehead; you had a limited amount of those left. He was getting bigger and more independent by the day. 

"Why... why can't Bucky stay wi'me?" 

That wasn't a surprising question; but it was an awkward one. Bucky was already Billy's favorite man of the house, and with his false title of father-to-be, Billy's admiration for him doubled. You, on the other hand, had not seen hide nor hair of him since that ill-fated kiss. It had been weeks.

However, you knew for a fact he'd be in attendance to meet the Odinsons; yet another headache. 

"He's coming to dinner too, honey," you explained, holding his little hands. "But I'll... I'll tell him you miss him, alright?" 

"I do; he's the best," Billy grinned; he couldn't have been happier with your apparent choice in mate. "Is he... are you gon'na marry 'im?"

Your mouth dropped open, stunned; and a knock sounded on the door. For once you were glad for guests. 

"Hold that thought, Billy." you prayed he'd just forget about it as you scrambled to the door in your stocking feet. Behind it stood Steve, and a step down, Sam.

"Doc," Steve tried to sound cordial, but he grinned at you like a hungry wolf. "Y'look lovely this evening." 

"Thank you Steve," you muttered, eyeing your own nylon covered toes. "Was there something you needed?" 

"Just wanted to chat with ya before we couple up with our dates. Sam here is ready to take Billy down to the parlor too; got the Monopoly board set up n' everything," attempting to be fatherly, Steve leaned past you to the little boy in your room. "Sound good, kiddo?" 

True to his trauma, Billy didn't say a word to Steve. He just nodded and swept up his books, scurrying past and grabbing Sam's waiting hand. 

"He's in good hands, Y/N," Sam promised, giving you a confident nod. "Nothin' to worry about." 

"I'm his mother, I'll still worry," you sighed, gazing down at your young darling. "You be good for Sam, darling." 

"I will, mamma. I love you." 

And you were cornered; just you and Steve. 

"Y'really do look gorgeous, Y/N," he didn't hide the lust in his voice any longer, his eyes spending ample time on your cleavage. "Just like the night at the gala." 

"The night my son got kidnapped," you corrected, crossing your arms. "Maybe... maybe I shouldn't go. Billy is still nervous, and with last time--" 

"--you're going," he stated. "It won't be like the last time; my house is solid. Nobody's tryin' anything with your boy." 

You chewed at your lip, knowing any argument against him was useless. What he wanted, he got. 

"Fine," you sighed, fetching your coat from your chair. Your modest heels sat by the door; you winced slipping them on. "Let's get going." 

"In a minute," Steve waved a hand before digging into his trouser pocket, and withdrawing a flat jewelry box. "This is for you. Y'deserve to look extra special tonight." 

You gaped, lifting the lid; inside was a necklace, two matching cords of silver on one clasp, absolutely riddled in diamonds. It was gorgeous - and garish. Something that flashy, it wasn't just you he was trying to impress. 

"Steve... I-- this is too much--" 

"None o'that," he hushed, and with delicate fingers plucked the necklace from its bed. He circled you, draping the cold gems around your neck. The top strand was a little tight, squeezing slightly as he secured the clasp. "This'll have to do... til I can put a ring on your finger." 

Suddenly the necklace felt impossibly heavy, the diamonds near slicing your skin. You needed to try harder; time was, indeed, running out. 

______________________

  
Steve had always struck an imposing figure in your mind, and in your life. Tall with those broad shoulders, he towered over you and most other people. 

But Thor was utterly massive. A mountain.

His attitude was immediately eager and friendly, as if he'd known Steve and his guests for years; drinks ordered to their private dining room, thick hugs wrapped around each newcomer amidst introductions. It was hard to imagine he was a criminal in his own land, on par with, if not above Steve. He was so warm.

His brother, on the other hand, set your teeth on edge. 

He'd stood when you had all arrived, but didn't move to greet anyone but Steve with a wordless handshake. He sat just as quickly, wearing an expression that was equal parts bored and calculating; as if he sized people up in his free time. His dark hair slicked and face pale, he barely spoke; almost like a footnote to his huge, flaxen haired brother. They seemed polar opposites; but nonetheless, they were worth Steve's time and effort. And that made them important. 

"Rogers, I have to tell you, when I pictured Brooklyn I did not imagine it to be so gracious!" Thor boomed like thunder, raising up a mug of golden beer. "Or its women so lovely." 

He waggled his brows at Wanda; sat at Steve's side. She giggled at the flattery, swatting a hand in the Odinson's direction. 

"What good is runnin' a town if you can't keep it nice for when guests pay a call?" Steve chuckled in response, clinking his tumbler of whiskey with Thor's mug. He always managed to glow in the public eye. "We ain't savages." 

Thor threw his head back in laughter; and even at the end of the table, it made your head ache. As his brother stole the limelight, Loki studied and scanned every other guest at the table, peering past his gold rimmed glasses. Nervous sweat beaded on your nape when his gaze ruminated on you; particularly the icy diamonds at your throat.

"Brooklyn's fine and all, but my dear sister was born and bred in Sokovia," Pietro's voice was as grating as the day you'd met him. He'd come under dressed and late, Wanda making excuses for him as he took the seat next to Loki; like he deserved it. "The finest beauty is still an import, no?" 

Again, laughter roared from the head of the table. You hoped all interest would stay there, happy to futz with your salad and pretend you were invisible; even though you felt the cold strain of Bucky's eyes, just a seat up and across from you. 

Far enough away that conversation would be noticeable; and policed.

"I mean, look no further than the mousey little doctor Steve keeps," you winced at your title, glancing up to see Pietro sneering in your direction. "Hardly comparable; must be something in the water!!" 

You saw Steve's hand twitch at the jibe; but chose to be silent. 

"Now now, let's not be unkind to the gentler sex," Thor quelled him with a wave of his hand. "What the little doctor may lack in beauty, she's thusly made up for in her brains." 

You were about to thank him when Pietro cut in. "My god! I'm sure that's the first time someone's called her 'little' since she was in diapers!" 

"Pietro!!" Wanda admonished. Her propriety and false friendship with you had her braver than usual. 

"That's _enough_," Steve's tone was sharper than knives, cutting the silver haired Sokovian with a glare. He raised a hand, summoning the waiter. "Let's be done wi' that; this is a happy occasion, our families breaking bread together. How 'bout a round of drinks for the table?" 

"Indeed!" Thor agreed while draining his stein. His electric blue eyes fell on you, sympathy painted on his mouth. "And you, Doctor, I'd like to buy you a drink; if just to teach this one some manners," he jerked a thumb at Pietro. "Whatever strikes your pallete; a nice red, perhaps? Crisp Riesling?"

You blanched. You never drank during pregnancy; you'd seen far too many babies born malformed as a result. The life in your belly exempted you from any alcohol, but you didn't like the idea of them knowing your state. "I-I am well and fine with my water, Mr.Odinson-- you don't need to apologize--" 

"Nonsense, dear thing, I won't hear it!" He insisted. "Is it something stronger, then? A good vodka, or perhaps a whiskey--" 

"Thor, do ease up on the poor doctor," the unfamiliar voice had spouted from Loki, of all people. He adjusted his spectacles, his drilling gaze on you again. "She is very clearly with child." 

Your mouth dropped open. _'How could he possibly know!?' _

Thor's own mouth rounded, looking to you in awe. "Oh are you? Oh my dear I apologize; my brother is always more astute in noticing such things." 

"Among others." Loki murmured thoughtfully. 

"I-Its fine, sir," your voice was quiet, almost sinking into the floor right then. "I... I prefer not to imbibe when I'm pregnant, if it's all the same." 

"Your second babe, then?" Thor seemed all the more intrigued as Steve's jaw tightened. You nodded and he hummed in approval. "Well, it seems this fine city is not only bountiful, but _fertile_ as well. You're of good stock." 

What were you meant to say to that? You merely nodded again, managing a smile while you glanced desperately between Steve and Bucky. Neither offered help. 

"I notice as well, dear thing," Thor wouldn't leave you alone; it was growing embarrassing. "That you don't bear a wedding band. Don't tell me the babe's father hasn't left you in the lurch." 

"No," for the first time in weeks, you heard Bucky speak; but not to you. "I haven't. I intend to make an honest woman of her yet - I just know she'd like a proper white dress when we say our _I Do's._" 

He threw you a smile then; so steeped in love and longing, it was almost real.

Pietro's glaring giggles had to go and ruin it. 

"Ha--I'm sorry, Barnes, but what happened?" The impudent upstart snickered through. "Did you go to the wrong room in the dark?" 

"Pietro, stop," Wanda's tone was hushed and begging, clearly noticing the frowns worn by the greater men at the table. "Leave them be, they're in love!" 

"Love!" Pietro's hand caught the table, doubled over in hilarity. "Saddled is more like-- one roll in the hay, Barnes, and now you're stuck with the prize cow!" 

A glass shattered as a chair skidded; you focused intently on a leaf of romaine. 

"You shut your mouth!" Bucky didn't scream; he snarled, stood tall as his chair fell behind him. "You've been a shameless louse all night! I will not have you bad-mouthing my future wife!!" 

Steve flinched and anger burned in him. A few shards of glass had stuck in his hand; crushed in his grip. 

Pietro rolled his eyes and shrugged a shoulder. "It's a joke, Barnes, don't take things so seriously--" 

"You so fiercely attack this woman," Loki piped up again, observant and icy. "Perhaps you envy her position, so capable and educated and _above you?_" 

Pietro's cheeks reddened; maybe this Odinson wasn't so terrible.

"This conversation is over," Steve stood then; remarkably calm with a bleeding palm. He clutched a napkin to still the bleeding. "Buck, you will sit down," he shared a sharp look with his confidante before Bucky's head dipped in defeat. "And Pietro... you need to go take a walk before you come back here spouting insults against anyone in _my_ family; if I even let you sit down again." 

All guests fell silent for a moment; only to be broken by your own chair sliding back, your cheeks ablaze. 

"Please excuse me," you choked out, already taking rapid steps to the washrooms. "I need to use the powder room." 

The silence lingered as you hurried from earshot. 

______________________

You drenched your face with water, as cold as the sink would run; but seriously considered hightailing it to the East River and flinging yourself in. What a nightmare the evening had become; worse than any you had imagined. You knew Pietro to be crass, but he was worse than ever. Then there was the foreign Odinsons, Steve and his temper, and Bucky... 

Oh, _Bucky. _

You stared back at your damp reflection in the restroom vanity; but all you could see was his face, that honest, open truth he'd worn when telling your carefully crafted lie. A part of you was beginning to doubt that it was a lie through and through. 

Your fingers massaged pained temples; all this drama and infighting before any man had even been served their steak. At least a few more hours, and then what? Another punishment for looking at Bucky? For thinking of him for more than two seconds? 

The East River grew more appealing by the moment. 

_'...no,'_ it was a voice in your head, commanding you to find your strength. It sounded like your own._ 'I will not let him win. I will not buckle,'_ you whisked a towel over your face, drying and readying. _'I am not weak.'_

Just a few more hours; then your espionage could start again. You took solace in that, opening the door; only to be met with a blond brick wall. 

This one, though, hadn't ruined your life. 

Thor's smile was pitying and a little drunk, gazing down at you. Stacked against him, he seemed even greater than before. "Dear thing," he said softly, his bear paws of hands taking up yours. "I am so _terribly_ sorry for all that unpleasantness. I'd no idea that Mr.Maximoff could be so cruel." 

"I-- it's fine, Mr.Odinson," you shook your head and wiggled your fingers, but he didn't let go. "I just needed a moment to gather myself. I'm just fine now." 

"Of course you are," he nodded vigorously, those gleaming eyes appreciating you slowly. "You are a smart, strong woman, I can see that in you." 

"Th-ank you, Mr.Odinson--" 

"I can see it, how you fight for this baby," bold and brash, his thick hand pressed against your middle; seemingly familiar with just where a baby laid. "Tell me, how many months now?" 

"F-four or so," you stuttered; you wished yourself back to the table, but he would not budge. "I-I should really get back--" 

"Thicker women produce better sons," Thor rambled, his thumb gliding over your dress. "You'll bear strong children, I'm sure of it--" 

"Mr.Odinson!" Oh thank heavens; Buck's familiar tone echoed from the hallway. Footsteps drew closer, your savior. "Don't s'pose you're givin' my best gal here any problems?" 

Thor's hand reluctantly dipped from your belly, much to your relief. "No, Mr.Barnes," he straightened and stepped back; you could breathe again. "Simply wishing your little one well." 

"And we thank you for your blessing," Thor wasn't the only bold one; he sidestepped the hulking European to wrap his arm tight around your waist. Protective; but not obsessive. "Think they're missin' you at the table." 

Thor seemed defeated himself; but relented. "Very well. I'll see you both shortly; Mr.Barnes... Doctor." 

His long stride carried him back quickly, but a fresh concern found you; surely, Steve would realize you were back here with Bucky. What would he do--

"Told Steve I was goin' for a smoke," Bucky had eased your worries in one sentence; though you'd had no idea he smoked. "Gives me a minute or two... I've missed you." 

"Billy's asked about you," you replied; you wouldn't dare admit you'd missed him too. "He asked why you couldn't watch him tonight." 

"Think I'd have preferred his company," he smirked. His blues trailed down your body, only to rest at your stomach. "How's the baby?" 

Nevermind his questions; you had your own. "Why did you kiss me?" 

He paled at the question; but he'd expected it all the same. "I... Wanda was asking." 

"You could've said no," you pushed; surely that wasn't the only answer. "I was saying no; you could've said it was improper, that you didn't like kissing in public... why did you kiss me?" 

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut; before his stare met yours again, as raw and real as it had been before. Truth was in the room.

"Because I had to, Y/N," he sighed, a weight lifted. "I had to. Even if it was just the once, if you never let me kiss you again; I had to know what it felt like... to be sure." 

Your mind was reeling; you clutched the edge of the sink for balance, one hand stilling on your chest. "...be sure of what, Bucky?" 

"I--" his blue eyes seemed to brim, coated in wet glass; before he blinked, sniffed, and shook his head. His professional mask back in place. "We need to get back; I'll go first, don't want you in any more trouble 'cause of me--" 

"Bucky please--" you caught his elbow in both hands, begging for more. "Why... why even go along with it?" 

He gave a long look; and in it you read volumes of what he couldn't possibly say. "Just... you needed me," he spoke so softly; like the air might tell his secrets. "And I'll keep... I'll be there, so long as you keep needin' me." 

He left you in the washroom; your ears ringing, your heart racing, and somehow full of more questions than ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Concerns? Hopefully something positive? Let me know :) these kudos/comments inspire me to keep writing. I love you guys ♡♡♡♡


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.

You had never been one to get nervous in doctors' offices; but sat across from Officer Hill, still empty handed, had you sweating. 

"He's been meeting with smugglers," you offered. "Maximoff, he owns a dock here; others are heavy players from Europe. Norway."

"Norway has its own sovereignty," Hill sighed, arms crossed. "And we know plenty about Maximoff. He's no great shakes; barely worth pursuing." 

"But they're bringing in... something," you cursed yourself; Steve had never let slip what exactly he was getting from the Odinsons. "Surely it can't be anything on the up and up." 

"It surely can't, but we need more than talk to move on any of them; most of all, Rogers," she reiterated. "And he is your mission, Y/N." 

"I know," you replied, fussing with your fingers. Your hands stretched to meet around your expanding belly; five months was coming up fast. "...does our deal still stand?" 

"He won't be put to death," Hill knew it well; you asked for confirmation at every meeting. "Nor will the rest of the household. We'll take your testimony in writing - you won't need to appear in person - but we need that hard evidence before any of this can even happen." 

"I know; I'm trying, I really am." 

"And I'm waiting," Hill, for her patience, had her own bosses keen on bringing down the Brooklyn crime king. "The new Chief Commissioner is extremely interested in this case, and I want things to go right for you... you just have to try harder." 

Your eyes squeezed shut around a headache. _'How much harder must I try?' _

______________________

  
Bucky was quiet as the dead, driving away from the illicit doctor's appointment; had been ever since the dinner, two weeks before. The events of the evening sandwiched messing with your other stresses; the brief honesty he'd spilled had only heightened your confusion. 

You tried to picture him in cuffs; but you couldn't. 

His eyes, which should've been on the road, kept glancing back to look at you. You were buried; anyone who knew you would see it. Your brow knit, vision on the window but following nothing outside, and your thumb nibbled past your pretty, soft as satin lips... 

He shook his head; he didn't get to think that way. Not allowed to wish. 

"...what'd the cop have to say?" 

It was business and awkward; but at least he was talking to you. You exhaled, worry heavy on your shoulders. "She wants clear evidence," you murmured. "Something she can see and believe." 

"Mm," Bucky nodded; Steve had been more careful about his documents and notes since the Yelena debacle. "That's a tall order." 

"It needs doing," you answered in certainty. "If the plan's going to work, I have to find something." 

He admired your tenacity -loved it, really- but he couldn't say that, not even in his own head. He turned down another road, the house nearing. "...you're sure this is still how you want to do it?" 

"It's not a matter of want now, Bucky, it needs to happen," you rubbed at your baby bump, willing time to slow. "This child... it can't be raised in the life, any more than Billy can. We need to get free... but Steve will never let me go. This is my only option." 

"W--you could run," it felt wrong to even suggest it; but Steve was only getting worse, and Bucky longed for your safety. "Run with Billy, get somewhere safe."

"Where could I run where he wouldn't find me? Who could I trust that wouldn't just be a greater evil?" His heart ached; you could trust him. "If I ever want to know peace, for my children to know it; this is how it has to be." 

Your fierceness, bravery, strength under pressure; all other traits he held in admiration. He wouldn't use that other word; would not dare. 

You clutched at your package of vitamins, masquerading as indispensable medicine, as you sidled from the car and trudged up the brownstone steps. Bucky wasn't far behind; and he knew Steve would be awaiting you both on your return. True to his word, he still policed your exposure to Bucky like he owned time itself; you had both grown accustomed and adept at telling the placating lies that hid your mutiny. 

But as the door unlatched, you were met with no domineering figure, no suspicious eye. Steve was not at the ready; alarming, yes, and curious more so. 

You wouldn't look to his absence too long; not when it was the window of opportunity you so desperately sought. With whispered pleas and clasped hands, Bucky unlocked Steve's office - he held the only other key - for your hurried exploration. 

There was no clock on his whereabouts; you had to be fast, and discerning. With winged feet your were at his desk, and with voracious eyes you poured over every scrap tossed across it. Receipts, notes from local business, blue prints, maps; so much that would be found on the desk of any other scatterbrained man. 

There had to be correspondence, there simply had to; Steve had said it so himself! Letters, bills of sale, anything-- 

An envelope. 

Manila, sealed, hardly bigger than a billfold. It was different; Steve ripped open letters and packages. This was neat; like it had to be that way. 

You had just enough time to nestle the envelope between your breasts; the hardware of the door twisting and creaking behind you. 

"Y/N," Steve had been on edge for months; he trusted none completely anymore, even you. Finding you statue still, leaning against his desk, seemed inocuous enough; but doubt simmered all the same. "How'd you get in here?" 

"Bucky let me in," you said hastily, clasping your hands at your lap. "Where were you?" 

"I was having a word with Sam, about seeing off the Odinsons tonight-- he's watching Billy. Good lord that kid won't say two words to me--" he paused with a perplexed frown. "Why are you in here, though, Doc? You know I don't like folks bein' here without my say-so."

"I missed you - a-and I wanted a wall between Bucky and I," had you always owned a liar's tongue? Fibs felt so easy now. You quelled the darkening of his eyes with further falsehoods. "I know you don't like us spending time together, so here seemed best... and I-- I wanted to see you." 

Hope glimmered in his heart. "You did?" So did skepticism. 

"...yes; to tell you that your baby is healthy," talk of the child always softened him. When you cradled your belly, you could almost see him melt. "And uhm... I wanted to spend some time with you. As ourselves." 

His shoulders and guard dropped, and in three long strides his own hands were hovering over your bump. "Awe Doc; you're gettin' soft," he pecked your lips with a kiss; almost an afterthought, becoming a habit. "Knocked up like this, wantin' my attentions; I like it."

Anger and cold sprang up your spine, but you smiled dreamily instead. "You've been so busy with the Odinsons, the Maximoffs; I had to sort out a time to get you alone." 

"My smart girl," he cooed. He pressed against you gently, just enough to feel him. "And now you've got me alone; what do you plan to do with me?"

_'Shit.'_ What could you do with him? You couldn't have him undressing you, he'd find the envelope quickly; best he stay away from your breasts altogether. You glanced up at his expectant face; it was worth a shot. 

"Do um... do you remember just after I moved in, and you came up to the attic... you er, you used your tongue?" 

A fox like grin spread across his mouth, smug and dirty. "Ah, that's what my girl is needing, huh? Want me to lick your pussy?" 

This was familiar, but your face was bright red. "Uh-huh..." you stammered, watching as he began the descent to his knees, slowly vanishing behind the swell of your bump. That grin didn't leave his lips, reaching up your legs, taking your skirt up with him. "Yes, that." 

"Mm-mm," he clicked his wicked tongue, shaking his head as he grasped your hips, urging you to teeter on the edge of his desk. He made easy work of your undergarments; he swear you'd grown pinker and sweeter since the baby. "Want you to ask for it." 

"I did ask for it--" 

"Say it right," his breath was warm, his kisses chilling on the insides of your thighs. His fingers stroked along the fold of your hips, eyes flicking between your embarrassed expression and his prize. "You want it, you got t'ask for it. Use your words, Doc." 

You could've jammed your heel into his teeth. "I want... p-please lick my pus--" 

His mouth was on you before you even got the words out - and that quickly turned into a scream. 

He found you drier than he liked, but he fixed that quickly; his tongue cooled your folds just as his panting heated you up again. Arms cradled your thighs, giving you purchase as you wobbled between the wood underneath and his lips before you. He groaned into you, licking and savoring, greedy as if you were his last meal. 

You withered to admit his talents were working. 

You let yourself drape backwards, fingers crunching the haphazard papers, as he got lost in you, and you in his efforts. It wasn't long before he had you gasping as well, even moaning; you could feel his smile against your soaking nethers, proud and eager for his greater goal. Your hips bucked, twitched, craving more of his sin, spurred on by his own sounds of sup and starvation. 

A pair of fingers slid in; and he found your scream again. 

"G'on, doll," he purred between licks, polishing your bud like a pearl. "Sing for me, y'know that's my favorite..." 

He sealed his lips and sucked; you bit back a squeal. Just barely. "S-Steve, e--everyone will hear--!" 

"Let 'em," he hummed, swirling his tongue like you were ice cream. "Wanda's out--" his teeth nibbled, you yelped. "N' let the boys hear; let'm know how good I treat my future wife." 

Just the crook of his fingers, one more long, wet suck; and you were done for. He tore you past the edge, pulled a climax from you as you quivered from head to toe; an animalistic howl, somehow lyrical, echoing in your throat. 

Devil that he was, you'd never be able to deny his sexual dominance over you. He held you in the palm of his hand in that respect. 

He didn't quite stop licking or prodding until your channel ceased it's clenching, your legs slack and jelly over his shoulders. Satisfied with his work he finally pulled away - the whimper in your throat a sweet reprise - and took to his feet, sucking on his fingers like you were honey. 

The smack of his lips and beast in his eyes made your flesh pimple; he was clearly wanting more. 

"Good start, Y/N," he murmured, hitching your legs up around his waist; his sex throbbing and hot against you. "How 'bout we finish off with a bang?" His fingers toyed with the buttons of your blouse, panic set in--

"Boss," a knock and Bucky's call from the door were an angel's herald; even if it meant he'd likely heard everything. "Y'got guests." 

Steve hissed, brow knitting tight in a pouty defiance. "Can it wait? 'M bit busy right now..." his nose traced the rapid pulse of your neck. 

"It's the Odinsons," that gave him pause; and you too. The brothers were meant to be touring the Maximoff docks, Pietro and Wanda their guides. It was their final task before their voyage back home. "They want to speak to you... privately." 

"Fuck," he groaned under his breath, letting his hands clench at your hips before letting you slack. "Up n' at 'em, Doc; can't keep the boys waitin'." 

"Of course." You hopped eagerly from the desk, straightening and smoothing your clothes quickly. The scent of sex permeated the room, and dampened the wood of the desk, but there was no getting around that. You went to retrieve your underwear from the floor, but Steve snatched them up first. 

"Ah, ah," he winked and wagged his finger, stuffing them into his pocket. "You leave your silkies with me, doll," a final kiss was left on your stuttering mouth before he gestured to the door. "Let 'm in, Buck!" 

The Norse men ambled in as Bucky held the door; a beaming grin immediately growing on Thor's face at the sight of you. On Loki, raised brows and a twitching nose. 

"Y/N! Dear thing!" Thor wrapped you in a tight hug as you tried for the door. The moment he let go his eyes dropped heavily to your protruding belly. "So good to see the two of you before we go!" 

"L-lovely to see you as well, Mr.Odinson," you kept decorum, trying to quell Steve's darkening frown with a sympathetic look. "I'm afraid I must be going, though--" 

"--things to _do_, I'm sure," Loki's voice, smooth as ice but rough in tone, spoke much in few words. "Perhaps some time spent with your babe's father?" 

You found yourself again awestruck and blanched at his implication. He sniffed at the air again. 

"Seeing to her other son," Steve spoke up, annoyed by the brothers' interest and intent on you. He gave you a sharp nod; he'd rather have you with the devil he knew. "I'm sure Sam's bored t'death, sittin' around while the kid does his numbers."

You shot a glare back. "Yes," you zipped to the door as fast as your feet could carry you. "You all have a lovely meeting." 

The door slammed behind you before any could return the sentiment. 

______________________

Your first priority was indeed Billy; you found him quietly studying in the maid's kitchens, and Sam was, in fact, nodding off in the chair next to him. He was glad to take your dismissal. 

"Hi Mamma," Billy looked up from his pages, yellow pencil set down. "Did you do good at the baby doctor?" 

A smile to hide your stress and worry blanketed your face. "I did great," you patted your belly as you took Sam's seat. "Baby is healthy and growing well." 

He grinned wide at that; with the lie of his little sibling's parentage, he'd been happier and brighter; his old self. "I can't wait t'meet 'em." 

"Me either, darling," with a shift you felt the manila envelope poke into your bosom; you had more investigating to do. "You um... you stay focused on your numbers, Billy. I just have to do some reorganizing in the pantry." 

"Yes Mamma." 

Thankfully the door to the pantry shut tightly, and a single hanging bulb on a pull string gave you just enough light to see what you're doing. Though it was a bit damp from your sweat, the mysterious envelope is still intact. With trembling hands you tear at the lip, praying it's something of worth, some scrap of evidence-- 

A white powder spilled, so slightly, into your hand. Confusion fell over you a moment; and then you smelt it. Floral, then sickly clean, chemicals; like laundry soap and rubbing alcohol. Snow. 

You froze like a dear in headlights; the door suddenly flung wide. Was this your time? Would you die in a pantry, your son just outside? 

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, seeing brown hair and blue eyes. Relief washed over you. 

"Y/N," Bucky whispered loudly as he crowded into the pantry, shutting you both in; who knew what excuse he'd given Billy. "You'll never believe what I-- " he glanced down to the envelope in hand, the white powder. "What are you doing with coke?"

It did look a little incriminating. "It was on Steve's desk; buried under some papers," you cupped your hand and shook what you could of the snow back into its pocket. "This is something, isn't it? Enough to bring him in for questioning--" 

"Darlin', with what I just heard, you could have him in for life, dead to rights." 

Your heart leapt. "What did you hear?" 

______________________

Unaware of an ear pressed to a neighbouring vent, a terrible plan was hatched in Steve's office. 

  
"This has been a most wonderful visit, Steve," Thor had shaken his hand too vigorously, had gripped it too tight. Something was off. "Brooklyn is beautiful; and you run your city like a King!" 

"Not all can be born so lucky, can they?" Loki muttered, coiling into a chair comfortably. 

"I'm glad to hear you like it," Steve smiled in spite of his doubts. "And I trust you're... pleased with the distribution of Asgard?" 

Thor grinned in return; something sinister and greedy there. "The best snow we've ever concocted. We're thrilled with your results," he shared a look with his brother. "But this does bring us to our one issue." 

"Issue?" 

"Maximoff," Loki spat the name like it tasted foul. "We don't care for him; or his methods." 

That would be an issue; as annoying and indecent as Pietro was, his little, unnoticeable dock was needed to move crates of Asgard in for distribution. Without him, cash flow would certainly stop. 

"...I see," Steve's arms crossed, leaning into his chair. "He is uh... a lot to deal with." 

"He's cheating you," Loki threw the statement away like it was nothing. "The numbers we agreed on are not balancing with the amount of product we've sent you; he's holding onto some of it." 

A shock of fiery rage lit in Steve; that changed a few things. "You're certain?" 

"My brother's books are never wrong," Thor confirmed, seriousness smeared across his furrowed brow. "Based on his oafish behavior these few weeks, we suspect he's using much of his plunder for himself." 

A thief and a reckless fool now too; falling into snow was easy. Even Steve limited himself to only a sample upon new batches, to test quality. The revelations hit like a mean slap, shameful and embarrassing. This was the man he'd struck a partnership with? 

Hatred churned in Steve's chest; regardless of his dock or his means, Pietro Maximoff had run out his usefulness. He had suddenly become a liability. 

"So," Thor cleared his throat. He never did like this part of the job. "Given all that we know of Pietro now, I think you'll understand us no longer wanting him... involved." 

The way Thor hid his eyes and the way Loki's eyes leered told Steve what was necessary. "How uninvolved do you want him to be, Odinson?" 

"Enough that he will no longer meddle in our affairs," Loki clarified. "Nor will he go talking to the wrong people about our business." 

Steve knew his orders, and nodded solemnly so. "I'll get it done; put my best man on it--" 

"--no, Steve," Thor's head shook, arms crossed, mouth grim. "We want you handling this, personally. Garbage rat that he is, Maximoff is your partner. He deserves to be sent off by the hand of an equal." 

Steve's jaw clenched; Pietro was never his equal. "When do you want it done?" 

"A week's time," Thor requested - ordered. "We'll have landed back in Bergen by then. Once the deed is done, send us word. Have your man, Sam, fly it; much safer that way." 

"Can he not just tell you himself?" Steve worried. 

"We want proof," Loki was keener on demands. "Just as much as you likely want revenge. Have this matter dealt with swiftly, and our business arrangement will become permanent." 

Steve's hand clenched; the offer was too great not to take. And the Odinson was right; he did indeed want vengeance. 

"I'll see it done." 

Thor gave another somber nod. "Good." 

"Oh, and Steve," Loki's eyes glimmered, leaning across the desk. "Make him bleed." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait here folks; I've condensed this story down to 4 more chapters, and knowing what I'm going to do to Steve has me dragging my feet. Ah well; needs must. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Kudos or comment to get me through this wicked business ♡♡♡♡


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unraveling begins.

"Why are you doing this, Steve!?" 

You winced at the sob; the breakup was quite a doozy. 

From the parlor, huddled with a few Commandos, Sam and Bucky, you listened to the pleas and shrieks of Wanda. This was step one in Steve's plan; lose the dead weight. 

"Ask your brother," Steve's replies were firm but calm, as if he was firing an employee. Perhaps that was all she'd ever been. "He's the one who fucked up our little business arrangement; so he's the one you can go running off to." 

"No!" She cried; you squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach flipping. "Stevie I had no idea!! Please, I love you, don't you love me? We've been through so much together!" 

"You've been through so much of my money," he bit back. "Let's call a spade a spade, Wanda; we both knew what this was. And now Pietro's gone n' welched on the deal, we can consider our venture dissolved." 

You could imagine the look of horror, heartbreak on her tear streaked face; you'd never wanted her hurt in all of this. But it was Steve; pain was almost always inevitable. 

"You--you can't kick me out!" She declared; footsteps neared, on their way to the door. "Steve I'm-- I'm pregnant." 

Silence lingered as your eyes went wide, instantly met with Bucky's. A baby changed things; he wanted a legacy more than anything, but then, what would happen with your--

"I don't see how that's my problem." 

A trickle of ice slithered down your spine; zero emotion in those words. His voice dull, bored, and truly disinterested. Whether or not it was true; this was a new level of cruelty.

The quiet broke with a fresh, panting sob, Wanda's voice a shrill cry. "W--how can you be like this!? I'm--I'm carrying your baby!! How can you leave me like this!?" 

"You should'a been more careful if you didn't want to wind up with a bun in the oven," you could almost hear him shrugging. The front door hinged, and you heard the tumble of something being thrown outside. "And I'm not the one leaving. You are." 

On quiet toes you slipped over to the doorframe, peeking out just enough to see Steve holding open the door, Wanda hunched in a wrenching sob, her back to you. It made you sick - your hand falling to your belly - knowing that could've very well been you. _'There but for the grace of Rogers go I.' _

"S-Steve..." it was her final plea, catching her trembling hands on his sleeve. "Please, don't do this... I've been loyal to you, I-I love you-- please don't send me away." 

"I don't love you," the words cracked in the air like thunder, and from your spot his eyes were a colder blue than ever. "We had some fun together; but it was business. Sorry you couldn't keep your heart out of it," he jerked his head towards the unyielding outdoors. "I called a cab for ya. He'll take y'as far as your brother's." 

Her neck craned up at him, but she found no words. There was nothing she could've said. 

"I suggest you move those gams, sweetheart," he was impatient, darkness in his tone. "I'm libel to break one if I have to chuck you down the steps too." 

The door slammed shut in her pretty face the moment she'd crossed the threshold. 

The events only cemented what you knew further; Steve had to be stopped, and soon. His beastly manner had grown monstrous, and he was ripping apart whatever and whoever he saw fit. It had to end. 

It also proved something equally worrying. It wasn't just the child that he wanted; he was very specific on who carried it. And his chosen carrier was so clearly you. 

You swallowed nothing by dry air. If he had his way, he'd keep you pregnant and tied to him forever. You had to get out. 

He turned back into the house, tousling his hair with a sigh. The heart he'd just ripped out, it didn't matter to him; he was just taking out the trash. 

"Steve..." his eyes flicked up as you called his name, taking tentative steps toward him. His henchmen were at your back, slightly more apprehensive. 

He grinned at you; his brave mamma to be. His wife to be. Nobody stood in his way now. "Y/N." he took the final strides to wrap you up in his arms, smirking at your wide eyes as he dipped you low, planting a hungry, claiming kiss on your lips. Nobody to stop him doing that whenever he wanted. 

For a split second he entertained the thought of fucking you in front of his men; but decided that show would only ever be just for him. 

"Wh--" he didn't let go as he straightened up, his knuckles teasing along your back. "Why did you do that?" 

He shrugged a shoulder, leaning in for another peck; he glanced up at Bucky, made sure he was watching. "Because now I can, doll," he murmured, stroking your hair from your face. "Nobody can keep me from kissin' you whenever I want anymore." 

"You know that's not what I meant--" 

"But that's what matters," he cupped your cheeks, placing one final kiss on your forehead before refocusing, addressing his men. "You all know there will be fall out over this; but its nothing we can't deal with." 

"Where d'ya want us, boss?" Dugan; ever the faithful mutt. 

"You n' the boys get down to the Sokovian district and spread the word; Maximoff's privileges are revoked. Any of the locals get uppity, you make an example," he set eyes on Sam, who straightened up. "Get down to the air field; I'll need you ready to fly out the minute I've got what we need." 

Obedient and dangerous, they snapped into action; only Bucky stood there, still waiting for his orders. His face was unreadable stone. 

"N' me, Steve?" His arms crossed; he didn't like what was to happen. 

Steve threw back a smug smirk, spinning you in his arms. He pressed up against your back as he pressed his mouth hot to your neck. "You're gon'na get the basement ready, Buck," his eyes predatory, his voice mischievous. "You get to be in charge o' gettin' rid of the body." 

______________________

  
It was only a precious few hours before all hell would break loose; and Steve demanded that time be sent with you. After readying the basement, Bucky was given the task of watching over Billy; quietly doing his arithmetic in the attic. It left you to your own devices; or rather, to Steve's. Quite trapped in his bed, he'd only bothered to remove his shoes while he had you down to chemise and stockings. He wasn't happy unless he held all your power.

"We'll get married soon as the baby comes," he promised into your skin, warm breath and dread fanning across your chest. The future loomed so darkly, if he had his way. "Get'ya whatever dress you want, doll; only the best for my wife." 

_'His wife,'_ the thought brought tears to your eyes, but you only smiled and closed them. _'I'd sooner be belly-up in the East River.'_ "I'm sure it'll be lovely." 

"It'll be better than lovely," he sucked a purple bruise into your flesh; a bloom above your bosom. "It's gon'na be your coronation. Whole of New York will know my queen." 

You swallowed and he paused, seeing the tension in your throat. "...it wasn't so long ago that you wouldn't dare be seen with me on your arm, Steve. I'm bigger than I was then, and I'll grow bigger still." 

"And you'll be beautiful; god help whoever says otherwise in my earshot," he swore it, hitching your legs up as he nestled between them. "Nobody's gon'na be talkin' about us long, doll; not when we're so close to takin' the city. I just need to deal with the Maximoffs first; then Stark will fall too. And nobody will try to take a bite of us, top of the damn food chain." 

He punctuated his oath with a scrape of his teeth, your breast pinking up under the friction. You bit your lip to hinder your questions; would it ever really stop? Could he walk away from it all? What would happen when he finally met a man he couldn't beat? 

But a furious pounding on the front door cut you off. 

Pietro had come to die. 

______________________

  
Steve left you with one more firm kiss before retrieving his shoes and heading to the door to receive his guest. 

"Pietro." He narrowly avoided a Sokovian fist in his face. 

"You bastard thug!!" Pietro stormed in past Steve, like a mouse in the jaws of a tiger. "How fucking could you!? My sister at my door, tear-streaked and pregnant!? What kind of deadbeat are you!!?"

"I don't see any proof she's knocked up," his voice was as cold as it had been to Wanda. "Seemed to me she was just spoutin' lies to keep herself all trussed up in luxury. You Maximoffs like to do that, after all." 

He grew redfaced at that, skin tightening in his fists. "My sister is no liar," he growled; he wasn't much smaller than Steve, but he still puffed up with self importance. "You got her with child, and you send her out in the cold! You're a worthless tyrant!" 

"I've got no need for her or her so-called babe," Steve strolled further into his own house, drawing Pietro deeper into the belly of the beast. "If it's even mine." 

Pietro's eyes narrowed at his back. "Because you've already got that midwife-turned-whore's baby waiting?" Steve stopped still; he surmised his guess was right. "You'd lie with the likes of that _pig_, claim her children, but won't take my own sister's superior stock? What the fuck is wrong with you?" 

Steve turned on his heel, still calm but for a storm in his eyes. "Who's pregnant with whose baby isn't a concern to me, and it isn't why I kicked her out," he stepped nearer to the Sokovian. "That's all on you." 

This time Pietro stopped, and truly understood his surroundings. Had Steve locked the door behind him? "What are you talking about?" 

"I'm talkin' about you stealin' from me, Pietro," Steve made steps towards him, watching his face turn whiter by the foot. "I'm talkin' about numbers what aren't makin' sense... and as it stands, the blame is yours." 

He knew what he meant - he had in fact been skimming from the Asgard deliveries. He thought the difference was negligible... evidently not. "I..." 

"Oh, have you got a story?" Steve's eyes widened in mirthless interest, now towering over his traitor, toe tips touching. "You got some yarn to spin me, how the numbers are off? It wasn't you? 'Cause any way we slice it, Maximoff, the snow is disappearing under _your_ watch, and we can't have that." 

Could he still save his hide? He certainly hoped so. "S-Steve, I know I did wrong by you--" 

"Weren't just me, pal," Steve kept his eyes sharply on Pietro; never giving away Bucky, silently creeping up the stairs, edging towards his prey. "You disrespected the Odinsons, shamed your whole district. You did wrong by my whole house," his gaze was burning ice. "You dragged my _wife's_ name through the muck... d'you really think you can talk your way out'ta this one?" 

Pietro's own eyes glossed with tears and despair. "I--" 

An ether soaked rag pressed over his mouth before he could argue any further. 

______________________

  
It was night. Steve's knuckles were bloodied and ached as he gripped a bottle of whiskey, washing down his own nerves and steeling himself for what was to come. 

He passed the bottle to Bucky; a final drink with his friend. He would have a sleepless night himself. 

"P-please..." Steve raised a brow; Pietro was stumbling out of his concussion. He spoke through bloody spit and fresh gaps in his teeth. "Please, I'll... I'll go, back t'Sokovia... take Wanda..."

Steve huffed a long breath, standing tall and cracking his neck. "We're well past that now. Y'know what's going t'happen." 

Pietro's head ached with a cracked skull as he raised it, barely able to see through his swollen lids. He was a horror; any former beauty he had was forever gone. "W-what will you do with my sis-sister?" 

Steve gave an absentminded shrug. "She's got no use t'me," he dipped his head to Bucky. It was time. "I won't kill her if she extends me the same courtesy." 

At the very last of his strength, he managed to lean his head back, letting it drape over the chair he was tied to. He shut his eyes; he didn't see Bucky hand Steve the scalpel, pulled from your medical bag. "Will you tell her I am sorry?" 

"No." 

The blade opened his throat like a slice through air; ear to ear, ashes to ashes. His blood spattered, painting a red line across Steve's perfect cheekbones, flecking his fine suit with one of his worst sins. 

Even with all his misgivings and darkness, murder never sat right with Steve Rogers. 

He stood over the body until it ceased it's twitching, the light vacating his former business partner's eyes. The deed was done, his life was over. There were a few more steps he had to take; and then he'd hand the body off to Bucky. He'd never know what happened to Pietro; plausible deniability. 

A few drops of blood spotted a blank sheet of stationary; and a set of scissors sheared off a lock of silver hair. With his words, and Sam's delivery, the Odinsons would know their orders were obeyed. 

"Get rid of 'im, Buck," Steve growled, scooping up the whiskey bottle to bring back to his room. "Somewhere to be forgotten." 

"Yeah, Stevie." 

He paused at the stair, shooting him a look. "What was that?" 

Bucky's eyes met the floor, head bowing in apology. "Yes boss." 

Satisfied, Steve took the stairs heavily. He just wanted to drown in his liquor and in you. 

______________________

  
You didn't have to be down there to know what Steve had done. 

He came back to you, tucked up obediently in his room, still painted in blood like a reckless surgeon. It made his blue eyes glisten all the more, as if from the nose up, his own skin was a mask; it was only blood and carnage that was his real face. 

He leaned heavy into his wall, swigging from his whiskey and staring you down. Like working out an equation, he looked stuck but certain; you weren't sure of what. You weren't sure you wanted to know. 

"I killed a man tonight," he never looked away; but it didn't feel as if he were talking to you. "Had to, y'know... he was stealing from me. If I didn't... who knows what he would've pulled next." 

You nodded slowly, flicking a dry tongue over your lips. "Are you alright?" 

"Why shouldn't I be?" This time he drained the bottle; his cheeks were starting to redden from its contents. "I did what needed to be done, didn't I? He was a threat... n' I can't have any threats around my baby. Around my family," his bloodied sleeve wiped at his mouth. "I defended what's mine... and we'll be stronger for it." 

Hand on your back, you wriggled to your feet, crossing carpet and streaks of moonlight. The fires in him were dim enough that he looked vulnerable; as he had when he'd been shot. A simpler time. 

"That didn't answer my question," you took the bottle from him, setting it aside and placing his hand on the swell of your stomach. "Are you alright?" 

His eyes squeezed shut; he was fighting something down, keeping whatever monsters lived in him from bursting free. It was a few heavy moments before he opened them again, gleaming and glossed. He shook his head no. 

In him, for a split second, you could see the scare little boy he'd once been; the scared little boy all men were, at one point in their lives. And in your heart, you took pity on him. 

Braving his bloody face, you kissed his lips with as much genuineness and truth as you could muster. In his peace, in you, he closed his eyes, the tension that made home in his body left. Arms tugged around your waist, your bump pressed between the pair of you, you walked him slowly to his bed, letting his tired form drop to a seat in his mattress. 

A handkerchief from his drawers, a dab or two of your spit; you found yourself gently wiping away what blood you could. He didn't deserve it, your kindness; but he nuzzled into your careful hands like a greedy puppy. You tried not to falter, and bit back your own tears. What did you have to cry over? 

You wadded up the hankie, throwing it into a wastebasket; you doubted he'd ever have use of it again. Words died on your lips - suggestions of sleep, perhaps a shower - when he took your wrist, directing your touch to his groin. Soft, but swiftly changing. 

"Please," it wasn't even a whisper; barely even breathed. "Please, Y/N... I need to feel something." 

You felt a soft flutter below; what was one more round, if it made him that much more docile? He couldn't get you _more_ pregnant. 

He didn't resist, his clothing stripped away, he simply kept a hand on your hip while you worked off his belt, trousers pooling at his feet. Something poked out from his pocket, but you paid it little mind; he was already pulling you closer, eager to know the solace in your kisses. 

He wiggled his way back, lying flat and letting you crawl over him and take control; moreover, he'd willingly handed you the reins, too scared of it in his own hands at the time. He nudged up your chemise, but you were the one to take it off. He kissed hungrily, but you were the one to open your mouth and let his tongue in. It felt like a new person; hatched from a bloody chrysalis, relearning the world and your body alike. 

It wasn't long before he was hard, grinding insistent along your thigh. Hot to the touch, hotter in your hand; again you took the lead, balanced above him, gentle enough, sliding slow against his familiar shape. Your body knew him. 

"Y/N," he whimpered - actually _whimpered_ \- wide hands clutching at your hips, staring up at you in revelry. At one point, in that same bed, it had almost felt real. Had it been? "Y/N, baby..." 

You moved slowly and his eyes fluttered shut, seemingly content and satisfied for once in his life. You surprised yourself with your eagerness, with how comfortably you fucked a murderer; even as your own pleasure rose, it only reminded you that things weren't simple any longer. He had always been this; you had changed. 

He whined low in his throat, one hand snaking it's way along the edge of your bump; reminding himself of what waited for him. Life. "I love you, I love both of you-- so much, doll..." 

You closed your own eyes; that was as close to honest and as close to love as he'd ever get, and still you didn't believe him. You instead focused on sensations; the feel of his thickness, the taste of power. From outside, you heard the trill of the phone; but that was a world away. Your hips rocked, channel tensed; focused on the act at hand. Lacing your fingers with his, you squeezed in time with your walls; his mouth opened in praise, adoration. He was getting closer by the second. 

"Let me feel you, Steve," was that your voice, murmuring so hotly? Commanding his body? "Let me feel it..." 

"Yes--" he stuttered, along with his own hips; hardly able to keep still, jerking with the promise of his climax. "F-Fuck, Y/N, _yess_\--" 

He lost himself in you before you did; that familiar essence flooding within, hot and sticky and him. What you felt was something close to orgasm; yet different. An achievement of a different kind, as he pulled you as close as he could, leaning up to mold his mouth to yours. It was a kiss, at first; and then he just needed to feel you breathing. 

He didn't stop twitching til he went soft, sliding from your sex with a quiet squelch; and still held onto you just as tightly. His heart still beat so quickly, and in his breath you could feel a shake, the incoming of a sob. 

You took stock. You'd seen glimmers of this man before; gentle, losing himself in your touch and relinquishing control. Could that be the truth of Steve Rogers; that the beast was the mask, and what docile thing hid buried was the genuine article? 

You wondered, could you go back? Were you about to destroy the wrong life? 

His voice cutting the silence held the answer.

"I'm sending Bucky to Bergen," Steve whispered. "To work with the Odinsons... stay out of our hair." You didn't dare meet his eye; you knew what he was doing. Cloistering you away, where he could keep as many people from you as he could. As many as would care about you. "He's got too close... I can't have 'im in the way." 

In the way. In _his_ way. 

Bucky had been pushing back on his own, trying to quell Steve's thirst - for vengeance, excess, domination. He was becoming a nuisance, stuck in the past; and Steve wasn't blind. He saw the way he looked at you. 

"Okay Steve." Was all you could think to say. No use in upsetting the apple cart; not when you were so close. 

A knock sounded; hurried, almost panicked. And the beast reappeared. 

He was gentle in moving you from his lap but aggressive in his rise; a sheet hardly tugged around his waist as he stormed to the door, wide strides punctuated with stomps. 

"What!?" 

Flung wide, Bucky was nonplussed at the sight of his friend - sweaty, heated skin, hair mussed. He could tell what he'd been up to; jealousy flared, but it was not the larger issue. 

"Ste--boss, Sam just called in; there's somethin' wrong at the air strip." 

Something cold splashed against Steve's spine; fear. "Wrong?" 

"Planes are grounded," the worst possible news. Surrounded by evidence, with nowhere to go. "Somethin' about a Nor'easter comin' in, they're patrolling the grounds; nobody's flyin' out of the state of New York." 

Steve's heart raced anew. He slammed the door, he couldn't look at him anymore; his vision was tunneling, zeroing in only on the envelope in his back pocket. He pulled it from his trousers, pacing, cursing, muttering; like he'd forgotten you were there.

"Fuck, what am I s'posed t-- can I get Sam down t' clear skies-- Fuck Fuck fu-- tonight of all fucking nights--"

"Steve," your voice was as gentle and innocent as you could make it. You rounded your eyes and pasted on the sweetest smile. Practically a kitten. "Would you like me to mail that for you?" 

Instinctively he clutched the letter tight; he could almost feel the strands of hair within. "What?" 

"It's important, isn't it?" You stood carefully, moving slowly and taking his shaking wrists in calm hands. "I could go to the next burrough, mail it by express... none the wiser." 

His panicky eyes darted between the you and the letter; it was a whole new danger. "Y/N, this is-- I wouldn't want you gettin' caught with this. It's important stuff." 

"I have no doubt of that," you were still so soothing, so reassuring. "So you'll need someone inconspicuous to send it off." 

"Inconspicuous..." 

"Nobody looks twice at me, Steve," you explained, stroking your thumbs across his skin. "I'm just some average, run-of-the-mill pregnant woman, mailing a letter to... let's say relatives," you'd become such a stunning liar; it was incredible. "If you'd like, I can seal it in a second envelope. No one has to know what's in there but you." 

He swallowed a dry mouth; it could work. He'd pulled off riskier moves, but it was you... if you were hurt... "I don't know." 

"Darling," you cupped his cheek, meeting those lost blue eyes. "I'm going to be your wife... and I know the man I'm marrying. If I can help somehow, I want to do it. Please?" 

His heart raced on; it was his best shot. 

"Don't you trust me?" 

He let out a long breath and his shivering stilled. He extended the envelope to you.

"Yes." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch now folks. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the slowing of updates, I'm having difficulty staying inspired; I'm really just hoping yall like what I've done here. Please leave a kudos or comment, I love to hear from you all. ♡♡♡♡


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day before the end.

You'd done it.

In your hands you held it; just a simple enough envelope, but the contents within were practically gold. With the performance of a lifetime, you'd swung Steve; and garnered all the evidence you needed to hand over to the police.

But not right away.

First, you had to buy some insurance.

You walked the trek across the burroughs, just as you had told Steve; but your destination had an extra stop or two before the station. Though they'd promised your protection, the police could only do so much to keep Steve's criminal contacts from coming after you. You needed to get away, and you needed leverage and start up to do it.

So your first stop came at Chrysler building; to see another self anointed king.

You tested your luck, demanding an audience with the billionaire kingpin, and were just as surprised to be ushered into the elevator with precious haste. Tony Stark wanted to see you too. 

Windows, floor to ceiling, boasted an unparalleled view from the top, encompassing Manhattan and further. Anything the eye could see. On any other day, it might've been dizzying; but your focus was sharp and keen on Stark, sat lounging behind his steelwrought desk. He looked intrigued; you looked determined. 

"Doctor," he hummed, steadying his chin on his fist. He still seemed to stare through you, but you would surprise him yet. "The only woman to ever turn me down." 

"If you usually go around proposing business deals with kidnapping," you still held hate in your heart for what he'd engineered. "Then I'm sure I'm not the only one." 

His brow quirked up; something was different, he saw it then. "_Mea Culpa_," he shrugged, holding his hands up in surrender. "Not my finest hour, but you have to admit; I made an impression." 

You kept a tight lip at his shit-eating grin. "You did. You're a man who wants things."

He leaned forward, elbows on his desk; interested. "Is that why you're gracing me with your presence today? You have something I want?" 

From your pocket you withdrew an envelope and tossed it across his desk. Not the letter, no; this one was smaller. Manila. And far more valuable to Tony Stark. 

"I have a business deal for you." 

He choked out a laugh, though his eyes were quick to widen as he popped the envelope open and reviewed its contents. You had hoped for such a reaction; snow was the trendy it thing at the moment. Stark stood to make thousands, or more; if he had the right hookup. 

"A business deal?" He tapped the packet's spine to release a bit of powder, sweeping up a minor dusting and rubbing it along his gums. "With who-- _shit_ that's good --not Captain Rogers?" 

"No, not Steve," there was no need to hide behind formalities; it wasn't as if you could hide the growing belly beneath your skirt. "I know the men who manufacture this... this product. It's some of the best stuff on the market... they call it Asgard." 

She had him now. He stood, excited. He knew the name; it was only just beginning to filter into Manhattan clubs, but it was putting most of his lines to shame. "You're buddy-buddy with _them_?" 

"Yes," a smile dared to brush across your lips; you hadn't expected such success. "And in no short time, they'll be looking for a new supplier."

"...will they?" His eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with the one they have?" 

Your hands flexed slightly as you grasped them before your lap. "Steve will soon be unable to keep up with the business... or much it all." 

He pulled a face of surprise, only to catch his hand across his chest. "Doctor, you impress me," his grin fell back in place. "How're you gon'na do it? Smother 'im with a pillow, dose him with ether--"

"That'll be none of your concern," you were very clear on that; you didn't want an ounce of Tony's help in this. "All you need to do is decide whether you want to corner the market with Asgard or not." 

He didn't answer immediately; his hand stroked at his goatee, studying, thoughtful of you. "...it's an alluring venture," He admitted. "But I'm struggling with a motive here. Not like I've been the kindest to you, some might say awful; why would you give this to me?" 

Therein was the rub; but the answer was obvious in your mind. "I'm not giving them to you; I'm giving you to them," you glanced out the window beside you, the ocean barely visible on the horizon. "When... when this is over, I'll need an incentive for them not to go after me. I need protection," your eyes fell on him again. "What better offering than the most powerful man in Manhattan?" 

Stark stood with his mouth gaped, truly speechless. You were far from the mousey paramour Steve had forced you to be; you'd grown to be a force of nature. Or perhaps you always were. 

"My my, Y/N," he chuckled again, taking his seat. "I certainly underestimated you, didn't I?" 

"You might have," your shoulder shrugged. "But that's not the question of the day. Do you want this opportunity or don't you?" 

Stark smiled, his own unshared narrative humming in his mind. Perhaps he should've fought harder for you at his side; but there was no catching a bird already in flight. Snatching into his jacket, he pulled out a business card, and etched in an extra line with the fountain pen to his right. "Give this to them, when you see them," he held the card out; you took it. "My personal line. I'll be waiting for their call." 

"Good," you glanced at the number but didn't commit it to memory. You were washing your hands of New York; every burrough included. "I'll bid you a good day, then, Mr.Stark."

"Wait." 

You were eager to leave, but you paused. 

"Have you got an escape plan?" He offered; he was trying to involve himself, you could tell. "For when everything goes to shit?I'd be glad to help..." 

Your hand steadied on your belly; reminding yourself who you were really fighting for. "I've made my own way so far," was your answer. "Think I'll keep betting on me." 

He gave a deep understanding nod. You weren't long for this city, he could sense it. Greater things crested on your horizon. "Then good luck to you, Doctor." 

"And you, Mr.Stark." 

______________________

  
The next stop was police headquarters; the time had come to give them the letter. With just a few tweaks. 

What you handed to Officer Hill was, indeed, the letter Steve had written; in a fresh, blank envelope that did not bear the Odinson name. Within it the names were removed as well; scratched off hastily. But all that didn't matter; what made the officer's eyes go wide was the clipping of hair, the perfectly preserved drops of blood, and Steve's own admission and signature. It was as good as a signed confession. 

She didn't stop shaking your hand for a good three minutes. 

"This is perfect, Y/N, absolutely perfect," the usually stern Hill was grinning, thrilled. "With this we'll have enough to put him away for good." 

"As it should be." 

She deposited the proof into a second, larger envelope. It would be used during interrogation, trial. "Now, I'm going to ask once more; do you want our protection, going forward? Rogers' network is a large one; and they might still go after you." 

"I expect they might," you swallowed a dry mouthful; you couldn't help the nerves. "But I have my own plans in place. All I ask, once this is over with, is an escort to Ellis Island." 

She understood. "You'll be leaving, then." 

"Yes," of that, you were certain. "I've got plans overseas." 

______________________

  
Your last stop before returning to the Brownstone was not a meeting. No one waited for you there, there was no finalizing or confirming left to do. 

It was merely you, standing at the center point of the Brooklyn bridge, drinking in the curve of the shoreline and the halo of the city. Studying the rooftops, devouring the docks. Committing all you could to memory; as you might never see it again. 

You'd never left New York; much less the country. A world of uncertainty and risks lay ahead of you, all based on gambles you had yet to make. You couldn't guess what to expect; but you were strangely calm. Ready to try. 

The world would be facing a different woman. One who knew herself. 

The sun began to set as you crossed the final stretch of bridge, joining the soil of Brooklyn. Your last night was beginning. 

______________________

  
Steve was sweet to you, all during dinner. Curling his fingers around yours, kissing your hands, cheeks, your neck. Murmuring about his kingdom; your eventual nuptials. He was secure in his standing, certain of his world. You didn't let slip for a moment that it was already crumbling. By morning, it would be dust. 

"Sleep with me tonight," he murmured it into your ear. You were sat on his lap, pressed close in the parlor, as his closest confidantes unwound from the day. "I want to wake up with you beside me. Like a proper wife." 

You squirmed slightly; his length was insistent against your backside. "Billy might get nervous-- scared sleeping in the attic--" 

"He'll be fine," Steve insisted. "You tuck him in like the fine mamma you are. Read to him if you like," his hand curved the expanse of your bump. "Then you come on down to me." 

You sighed. Just one more night. "Yes, Steve." 

______________________

  
Your larger concern with Billy was the morning's activities. You'd have to prepare him; tell him what was to happen without giving away the secrets. 

You shut 'Stuart Little' at the close of another chapter, but held Billy's hand tightly so that he'd know to listen, and listen well. "Billy, darling." 

Sleep addled his eyes, but he perked up at your gentle call. "Yes, Mamma?" 

You chewed at your lip, mulling your words before you spoke. "Sweetheart, we'll... we're expecting visitors tomorrow," you ran your thumb across the back of his little hand, soothing. "Very early. They... they'll be loud. At first it might seem scary, but don't fret. Everything will be well... and I'll keep you safe." 

He seemed worried; but sleep was winning out. "O-okay, Mamma," he whispered, already nodding off. "Will you be safe?" 

You smiled just as he shut his eyes. "Yes, my love. All of us will be." 

You waited till you heard his soft whispering snores, certain he was asleep, before you stood. You were indeed ready - you'd packed your essentials and sentimentals in a suitcase days ago, the same done for Billy - and there was only one last thing to wrap up. 

A knock at the door. One last thing. 

Cool blue eyes dazzled down at you when you opened the door. You held a finger to your lips, hushing. "Billy's asleep." 

Bucky nodded solemnly, quieting his tone before he spoke. "Its on then," he wondered, leaning in slightly. "Tomorrow?" 

"Yes," you were equally serious; it felt like you were preparing for a funeral. Weren't you? "Tomorrow morning." 

"Alright," he sighed deeply, brow knit down the middle. You knew his conflict; still shocked that he'd helped you at all. Perhaps you'd ask him about it; but not that night. "And... and you're sure they won't kill him?" 

You nodded hurriedly. "I'm certain," you replied. "He'll get life." 

Bucky's lip caught in his teeth; turmoil boiled in him, but there was no going back now. Just storming forward, onward. He had a new light to follow. "Then... I suppose I'll see you in the morning." 

"Hold on," you caught his forearm before he could go, warm in your palm. "You... you should go." 

"Go?" 

"Leave. Get out while you can," you slipped a business card from your pocket, one bearing a familiar scrawl. "Before everything happens... get to Ellis. Book passage to Europe; Bergen, if you can." 

"Bergen?" He glanced down at the card; the name on it turned his stomach. "Y/N, you can't-- you got Stark wrapped up in this--" 

"He's our ticket out of this," you explained. "Steve had plans to send you to Bergen either way. They'll be expecting you... and now you won't go empty handed."

He gazed at you in awe; had this mastermind of enterprise really been up the whole time? He slipped the card into his pocket. "And you?" He asked. "Will you come as well?" 

"Once I've done what I've promised here, I'll head to Bergen as well. This, it could be a chance. Our chance at a new life." 

"Our?" He repeated. Your cheeks colored; he was hopeful. 

Your hand - still on his forearm - slid down till you reached his fingers, lacing them with your own. "Head for Bergen," you said again, eyes cast down. "Will... you wait for me there?" 

His answer came in a kiss. 

His other hand cupped at the nape of your neck, lips soft but promising on yours; you kissed without fear for the first time in that house. His skin warm, radiating, making you not want to budge for one second. Nor did he; even as he spoke, his lips stayed on yours. 

"I'll be there," he swore, resting his forehead on yours. "So long as you need me." 

You squeezed his hand as tightly as you could, wishing he could stay; but safety would come the further he was away. Just a few final seconds - basking in some unknown, welcome excitement - and the world would have to spin on. 

"Go on, Buck," you murmured, finally letting go. "You should be able to catch the last ferry to the island." 

His head dipped; a final kiss on your cheek, heat to keep you warm until he could kiss you again. "I'll see you in Bergen, Doc." 

"Till then." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys; my old system crashed and I lost nearly all my notes. Had to rebuild somewhat.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> Kudos/comment if you like.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a month, but... here you go.

There was no warning, no knock. You were wide awake, had not slept. He was barely conscious before the first shouts rang out. 

"NYPD, get down on the ground!"

Steve woke to his whole world burning down; all from the spark you'd set. 

"What the hell is going on?" His voice was rough from sleep but sharp all the same. He was already up, ears keen on the shouts, taking a pistol from his dresser drawer before you'd even tried your robe. Your stomach turned, your baby shifted; could he make this worse for himself?

"Steve--" your hand was on his shoulder, but he was pushing you behind him, fumbling with bullets in sleepy hands. "Steve what are you doi--" 

"Hush, Doc," he pressed a fast kiss to your mouth, approaching the door. "I'll handle this." 

Your fingers grazed your lips; could he tell that was the last kiss you'd ever share?

They kicked the door in; and Steve was outnumbered. 

It almost broke your heart, his body wedged between you and the oncoming officers; you knew well they wouldn't hurt you, but Steve was ready to rip them apart.

"What the fuck do you pigs think you're doin'!?" He roared. He could hear boots stomping, yelling; his men wouldn't go without a fight. "Think ya got any right comin' into my home--"

It took three officers to pin him, though he thrashed and bucked, the gun knocked from his hands. You did your best to look terrified. 

"Shut your yap, Rogers!" some thick male officer barked back. A trickle of worry dripped down your neck. Where was Officer Hill? Would these men take their chance right there? Collateral damage? "You can come quiet or you can make your last stand right here!" 

"Fuck you!!" He spat back, physically spitting with a jerk of his head; it globbed onto the cop's collar. For that, he earned a pistol whip.

You huddled yourself into the wall; could he honestly ruin your plan within mere minutes if its execution? Questions spun, shouts mounted; a roar bubbling in your ears. _'This is wrong,'_ from above you heard the wail of a little voice - Billy._ 'No no no, it's all wrong, I fucked up, I've ruined everything--' _

"Ma'am?" 

Your tunneling vision cleared enough to see a tall man in a captain's uniform looking down at you. He must've stepped right over Steve and his captors. His face was hard, but there was no malice held in his one exposed eye. "Y/N Y/L/N?" 

It took a moment before you recognized your name. "Y-Yes?" 

"Get the hell away from her!!" Steve thrashed on, desperate to get to you. 

"My name is Nicholas Fury, Commissioner of Police," his hand rested on the handcuffs on his belt, but he didn't remove them. "Ms.Y/L/N, given your present condition, I'm going to ask you to surrender yourself to the NYPD in regards to questioning and charges laid against this house." 

A chill hit your skin; your own safety had never come to mind. Mouth dry, you nodded absently. "Yes sir." 

What fight could you possibly put up? 

"Don't you fucking touch her! She didn't do anything!!" Steve bucked and jerked under the arms and knees of the cops holding him down, watching as this _Fury_ laid a hand on his girl's shoulder. "You leave her be you fuckin' pig!!" 

"That's enough from you," Commissioner Fury seemed almost bored, walking you past Steve while he tried in vain to grab your ankles. "She's not for you to control anymore, Rogers."

Your heart jumped - a little sign of hope. 

Steve could only see his world crashing in with every step. He craned his neck while they cuffed him, meeting your eyes with anger and love and fear. "I'll see you soon, doll!! We'll get all this shit handled, I'll figure this out! You hear me!?" 

He had no way of knowing that was the last time he'd ever set eyes on you. 

______________________

  
Steve was not making it easy for the NYPD. 

He paced the length of his holding cell like a ravenous tiger, all six feet of concrete wearing down under his heavy steps. Wherever he was being held, his boys weren't anywhere nearby. With the silence from the other cells, it seemed they'd cleared out the whole barrack for him. 

He wasn't flattered; and he made that clear. The first cop that got too close, he had choked through the bars. The second sported a black eye on his exit. He had nothing to say to them, he would give them nothing; but he could tell they had something. Enough to pull down his whole household. Enough to take his girl. 

Tears stung his eyes while his hands clenched around the bars, iron groaning. The look of loss, confusion, of utter helplessness that had painted your face; it made his heart break. Where were they hiding you? They had to be gentle with you, you were having a baby - his baby. His head throbbed as anger swelled in him; just when life was beginning to look up, it all had to come crashing down. 

He'd kill whoever snitched. 

It was hours before a new pair of boots came tapping down the cell block; another cop willing to try their hand. Steve was at the bars in an instant, rage rising again when he made out his visitor; the same bastard piggy who had whisked away his woman. The man looked bored, thumbing through a folder he carried with him; Steve wished to rip him to shreds. 

"Steven Grant Rogers," that disinterested tone irked him instantly, the cop's one brown eye reading out his name like he didn't already know it. "You're a hell of a man to pin down."

Steve knew better than to talk; he just glared. 

"Petty crimes as a kid; knocked over a few shops, gave a few beatings," the officer - did he say it was Fury? - flipped through his document. "Never enough to keep you inside more than a few weeks... and you always had a fall guy, didn't you? One of your underlings willing to take the time for their big brave Captain?" 

He seethed, his knuckles white. 

"Hm, I'd heard you were a man of few words," Fury smirked, turning a few further pages. "Correct me, but you were linked to one Wanda Maximoff romantically fairly recently, weren't you?" 

An ounce of doubt poured into Steve's mind; but still he wouldn't confirm or deny it. 

"Well, she certainly seems to know you. Said she was expecting your baby," Steve winced in his mind; of course Wanda had talked to the cops. That conniving little dumbass was more trouble than her worth, he should've known. "But I'm guessing you knew that before you broke up with her." 

Steve breathed out, almost hoping to spit fire with it. What else had that little bitch told them? 

"She's very forgiving, that Wanda," the commissioner went on. "Still singing your praises, still so sure you two will get back together and start a family. Doubt she'd ever believe you killed her brother." 

His heartbeat skipped, cold sweat broke out on his neck; murder was harder to run from.

"I didn't kill anybody." 

"My God, he speaks!" Fury chuckled humorlessly. "And the first thing he says is a lie." 

"Its no lie," Steve had to defend himself; think fast. "I know Pietro Maximoff, he's the type to run off boozing for days at a time; go dredge the East River, he'll show up in a net." 

"Don't think we've got to go as far as the East River," Fury's face hardened as he fixed his gaze on the fallen King of Brooklyn. Carefully, he plucked a photograph from the file; a nail in the coffin. "In fact; we don't have to go any further than your own backyard." 

And there, printed in black and white and horror, was Pietro. Or rather, just his body, half coated in dirt, staring out from the photo with lifeless, accusatory eyes. 

It wasn't the body that bothered Steve. What had bile rising in his throat was the very clear, familiar outline of a door, trash cans, a shovel; it was indeed his own yard. 

His head reeled, his heart raced; buried on *his own land!?* He knew the order he'd given; take the remains far, don't let them be found. That's what he had said... he had said it to Bucky...

_Bucky. _

His oldest friend; his closest confidante. 

How could he have turned on him? 

"I-I don't know why you found him on my property but I had nothin' to do with it," Steve insisted. "Maybe he had beef with one of my me-- boarders, maybe somethin' happened--" 

"We both know that's not the truth, Rogers," Fury produced a new snapshot from the folder. Silvery and blood stained, the scalpel that made the killing cut pointed at him from the flat image. "We got your prints all over this, son." 

He gulped down a dry mouthful; that scum he had named a friend had sold him out, gift wrapped him for the cops. His gears turned, ideas spun; but there really seemed to be only one answer. Only one other set of prints that would be on that blade. 

"That's not mine. Its Y/N's." 

You'd forgive him eventually - and you'd do less time. Hell, he'd roll over on a few Commandos if it meant getting you a shorter sentence. Once you had the baby, he would take the boys, keep them safe-- it would be fine. 

You just needed to do your part.

Fury clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Blamin' the woman you say you love? Isn't that your kid in her belly?" 

"It is... but she's, she's got a temper, n' she n' Pietro never got on well, ask anyone--" 

"We know," Fury slid the photos back in place, only to pull free the most damning evidence. "We also have reason to believe she didn't do this... based on this handy bit of mail we found at the post office." 

The damned letter. In his own handwriting was the first scoop of grave dirt; every word screamed off the page, guilty guilty guilty. Steve's blood turned to ice, frozen in the moment._ 'How?' _

"Its not often we get a signed confession before we even find a body." 

Steve's vision was fuzzing and his anger was boiling over; no point left in decorum. "How the fuck did you get that?" His tone was grave and vicious. "Did you take that off Y/N?" 

"Doesn't matter how we got it," Fury shrugged, popping the letter back into its place. "Matters that we have it." 

"What'd you do to her to get it?" Steve blew past the meaning; some part of him knew that he would never be a free man again, but that wasn't what he cared about. "Where is she!? I swear if you hurt her--" 

"What? You're gonna slit my throat in your basement?" The commissioner was confident; and had every reason to be. He closed the wings of the folder, tucking it under his arm once more. "That young lady isn't any concern of yours anymore. I'm really just here for a courtesy call - to let you know that no amount of money or murder is going to see you free the rest of your life." 

Air didn't come easy then, as he stretched through the bars, trying to grab his jailer, just out of reach. His young life, snatched away; his wife to be, his almost family, his so close empire. All had just been extinguished. 

"You think you can keep me from my girl!? My kid!?" He growled, still swinging through the bars as Fury turned on his heel. "I'll be out'a here soon, you just watch!! I'll fuckin' bury you, you blue trash!! You'll regret the day you came into my house!!" 

"Sure I will." Fury scoffed, gliding away as calmly as he had come. As if he hadn't just all but delivered a life sentence. 

The footsteps silenced slowly, till there was nothing to hear but Steve's panting. He would do it - he'd get out, kill that pig Fury, get his life back - get you back. All you had to do was wait for him; and he would give you everything. 

What reason would you have not to?

______________________

  
The docks were quiet that evening, the sun beginning its descent on the burroughs. Few were taking the late ship to Europe; fewer to Norway. With any luck, you would be undisturbed. 

The ruse of your _arrest_ that morning had been necessary; the commandos had to see it, Steve had to see it. As far as they knew, as far as they'd know for some months, you were locked up in a women's prison. It was time for you to run, to disappear. 

You clutched Billy's little hand in your own left; and in your right you gripped your tickets. Paid for with a necklace of diamonds, pawned, with enough to get you where you'd need to go. To who you had to see. You were quiet, staring out over the boundless ocean. Something in you still feared; perhaps the ship wouldn't start. 

"Your bags are checked, Ms.Y/L/N," pulled from your daze, Officer Hill handed you an ID number for your luggage. You didn't take much; some clothes, Billy's essentials, and your trusty medical bag. Minus a scalpel. "You're sure about this?"

You smiled softly, stroking your thumb over Billy's knuckles; he was excited. And in honesty, so were you. "Everybody keeps asking me that," you mused. "But I am. I truly am." 

The young officer gave a nod, offering a handshake. Tickets shoved in your pocket, you took it. "Brooklyn -- all of New York -- owes you a debt, Y/N. I hope you know that." 

You turned your head back to the ocean; you'd be gone soon. "I only did what needed doing." You wouldn't mention the deal with Stark, the Odinsons, who waited for you in Bergen. You couldn't; you could only go forward. 

The foghorn of the cruiser sounded twice; it was time to board. You took a long breath, taking in the scent of your home for the last time. "Time for us to go," you bent and scooped up your son, balanced on your hip. "Thank you for everything, Officer Hill." 

"Maria." she nodded once more, and patted Billy's hair. "The very best to both of you." Your watched her leave, till she was out of sight. You had to believe in her; hold faith that they could stand up to Steve. 

You shook him from your mind. You'd not give him your thought ever again. 

Billy was laughing as you climbed aboard the massive ship, thrilled to be on such a big boat. He would talk the crew's ear off, with all his questions; and already seemed brighter than he'd ever been in that brownstone. With any luck, that time of his life would one day be a faded memory; you hoped for that dearly. 

"Are we goin' to see Mister Bucky in Berg-ee, mamma?" He queried, his sleepy head on your shoulder. 

"Yes love," you cooed, stroking his hair. "He's waiting for us. We'll be there before you know it." 

You had him tucked up in your shared cabin once settled, and he was fast asleep quickly. No more demons to haunt him, you knew him safe. Finally safe, you let yourself out in time to hear the engines roar, and watch the ship pull from its dock. Next stop, Bergen. Anywhere. 

The sun settled over the horizon, setting the city in oranges and golds, a welcoming blanket of night waiting to vanish you away. Your home would never look more beautiful, as you watched it fade from view. 

Your heart skipped as a fluttering met your belly; your child was saying hello, kicking for the first time. 

Life was waiting for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew; what a ride!! And what a ride she has ahead of her.
> 
> I'm torn, readers; I have two more chapters in mind that would fully cap off this story, all the bows tied up. Or, I could leave things as they are, and leave this open to future visits or twists... 
> 
> What would you do? Help me to decide? 
> 
> Kudos or comment if you like!♡♡♡


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is in a very different format, but I hope you all still like it. A life lived.

It was mere weeks by the time the trials were resolved.

Steven Grant Rogers - life imprisonment. 

Nobody would tell him anything about you; the cops stayed silent, his lawyer dodged the questions, the judge wasn't at liberty to say. 

He could only assume the worst; and wonder what prison you wound up in, as he's shipped up to Sing Sing. New York, through and through. Were they still holding you? Was there a bargain to strike? Were you safe? 

Sing Sing is chaotic; it was just right for him. He climbed the ladder quickly; Duggan ended up there with him. He knew even less. Even with his newly gained power, he had no answers. All he wanted to know is where you are. He asked his guards, his jailers, where you were being held. They don't answer. 

He assumed the worst. 

______________________

  
Somewhere else, a former midwife climbs off an ocean liner, son in tow, a whole new continent. Its greener than you were expecting; warmer. You breathe clean, free air. It isn't long before three sets of blue eyes find you. Deals to be made. 

Arms wrap around you, welcoming and familiar. You want to trust your optimism.

______________________

  
The first letter came within a month of his sentence. 

Wanda, flowery prose, proclaiming her love, how he couldn't possibly have done it, how she would wait for him. The poor girl, smitten and blind. She wrote about the baby; but it wasn't the one he cared about. 

What would happen to your son, born behind bars? Dropped into an orphanage, never to know the greatness and luxury Steve had promised. Guilt ached in his head. Billy was no doubt in such a state already.

He spent many days pacing and muttering in his cell, cursing Bucky. As far as he could tell, he had thrown him under the bus; after all they'd done together, how they'd risen! He would rip him apart, if he ever got the chance. 

Wanda wrote again. He never wrote back. 

______________________

  
The Odinsons make fast friends out of the Stark crime family; a match made in Valhalla, as Thor proclaimed. You're praised and touted as the mastermind; and you're easily granted your one request in exchange. 

A new life. A pair of lives. 

Its nothing to the Odinson household; Loki knows all the right people. Falsified papers, European passports, enough Euros to begin a life anywhere you choose. All of it comes with a promise; an oath. You'll be left alone. You'll go uncontacted, unbothered, forgotten as a ghost. It's all you ever wished for. 

You give Bucky the choice; stay, do what he's good at, what he knows, in Bergen. Or come with you. 

He carries Billy as the three of you board a second ship the next morning. Thor keeps his promise. 

Loki keeps tabs. 

______________________

  
Duggan kept in contact with the remaining Commandos; scattered through the American incarceration system. Nobody copped to selling out Steve; but they'd all had a little too much to say. 

Through them, Steve sent out the same order; Find Y/N. Every so often, a rumor turned up; sent down South, as far apart as they could get. A queen of your own cellblock, somewhere in Oregon. Held in a hospital till the baby comes, then to a hanging. Imprisoned; then escaped, on the run. Beaten to death in Pennsylvania. 

Somebody suggested that you'd run. That you were the one to sell him out. He refused to listen, or believe it; you wouldn't. You loved him. 

His grip on the prison is wavering. 

______________________

  
He doesn't overstep, nor does he assume; Bucky is a cordial gentleman in your travels. Goteberg, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Bruxelles. You avoid Germany; he isn't ready yet. He's sweet to your boy, teaching him new words, telling him stories, keeping him distracted as you go along. He doesn't dare cross the line yet; he hasn't found the nerve. 

He can't quite believe his freedom; nor his chance with you. 

He can't mess that up. 

______________________

Months had passed; spring was turning to summer.

Had his son been born yet? Was he okay, healthy? Where were you? Had you survived? Were you even allowed to see him? 

Where were you? 

He started lashing out; wouldn't see Duggan, nearly started fights with him otherwise. He's placed in solitary confinement, for his and other prisoners' safety. His beard began to grow out; he'd bet you'd love that.

Wanda wrote again; she lost the baby. 

He tore it to shreds; where was his son?

Where were you?

______________________

  
You're in Bern when the contractions begin in earnest. 

Thankfully, off the trains; staying in rented rooms. You're confident you can deliver by yourself; Bucky dashes around the city before finding a midwife. 

Even without language, you're glad for skilled hands. 

Bucky rocks Billy gently, keeps him busy as you scream in the next room; he doesn't know how to feel. Guilt, his best friend's baby being born. Relief, that you were in good hands. Nervous, for the future. Eager, to meet them. 

Its July Seventh, 1947, and a new day is dawning. One more push, sweat, blood, pain and strength; and in your arms is placed a daughter. 

The midwife congratulates you - you assume - on a healthy girl. She has your face. 

Billy is ecstatic; Bucky observes in quiet awe. 

He knows he loves you now. 

______________________

  
Its Autumn before Steve is allowed out again. 

Not broken, no, but unhinged; dangerous. Duggan managed to lose control of the prison population in his absence. Steve beat the hell out of him in recompense. A man named Fisk was top dog. Steve fell in line; till he can topple him again.

Wanda requested visitation; Steve accepted. He spent every second she was there asking about you, imploring her to find you, tell him what happened. Her heart is broken. When she couldn't help, Steve snapped. He nearly landed a punch before he was dragged off by guards. 

Solitary again. 

______________________

  
Winter is here, the days shorten, the nights chill; but time spent with your children, safe and still in Bern for the moment, keeps you warm and bright. 

She is beautiful; more you than Steve. She has a touch of his golden hair, but it's your face that giggles up at you. Billy, ever gentle, is just as in love with her as you are. Bucky still only watches, like a guard on castle walls. 

You wish he would just come in. 

______________________ 

  
In his dreams, you were right there. 

Side by side in his spectacular brownstone, you raised his son. He and Billy, thick as thieves. He dreamed you in his bed, loving him, worshiping him; giving you everything he'd promised. 

He was belligerent every time he woke up. He could never hear his son's name in his sleep. 

He was allowed in gen pop again; Fisk still liked him as an enforcer. Nobody wanted to cross the soldier; the man with nothing to lose. The man out of time. 

Alone in his cell, he drew you on the backs of Wanda's letters; but he never got the eyes right. 

______________________

  
Five months into 1948, Bucky finally finds his nerve. 

He tells you in the morning and kisses you by the afternoon. You make love long into the night.

You feel as though you've been waiting just as long as he has. 

He's beautiful in the moonlight; the scars from his stitches and wounds glinting silver. You sleep through the night, nestled against him, and your nightmares are finally just dreams. 

You come to know you love him too. 

______________________

  
Days, weeks, months. Had it already been a year? Was it two? What did it matter; he still couldn't find you. Fisk tried to help, and turned up very little; his contacts in the police department only found record of your arrest, but never what came of it. 

Steve assumed the worst. 

Your face papered his cell and his memory; he talked to you for hours on end, as if you could answer back. 

It was nearly as good as the real thing; that's what he told himself. 

He was given a second sentence when he killed another inmate. They stole one of his drawings. 

______________________

A new decade begins, and France is beautiful. The outskirts of Lyon are picturesque, the perfect place to raise your family. Bucky picks up French faster than you do, but its enough to get by. You're the kind, quiet little American family. That's all anyone ever knows. 

You wear a ring Bucky finds in an antique shop; simple silver on your left hand. It's meant to dispel questions. Neither you or Bucky admit how much you like its look. 

Billy begins to call him Papa. Your daughter's never known him as anyone else. 

______________________

  
Word came from the outside; Sam was the first to finish his sentence. Cut a hell of a deal. 

The news is grim; Stark's deal with the Odinsons, his tight grip on the city. Sam was moving south; there was nothing left for him in New York.

The years mounted fast, and Steve became harder to control. He can't be trusted, as he once was, he can't handle himself. His five years inside, he had spent more time in solitary than anywhere else. Most said it was for safety; others because he was too much of a hassle. 

He had become a memory. 

______________________

  
Some nights, you still wake in terror, a cold sweat. You can almost feel Steve's cold stare, his hand on the back of your neck. The fear is never far away; but thankfully, neither was Bucky. 

Your relationship was a complex one; you both knew the guilt in your hearts, how you'd come together, what had to be done. But what lives had been spared by turning Steve in? How long would you have survived in that house? 

The ends justified the means; that's what you told yourself. 

You wake up gasping, grasping the sheets; but Bucky is there, enveloping you in his warmth and safety. He coaxes you to stillness, murmurs his love in your ear. He talks of the future, and your heart calms. 

His fingers stroke over your belly; growing again. He can't wait to meet your new baby. 

The future was finally worth living for.

______________________

  
His chest hurt, his breath labored; every morning was a cacophony of new aches and pains. Time blended together, so did fights, bloody knuckles, sweet dreams and blue eyes. Every day felt the same, but in some edge of his mind, he knew time was racing away without him. New faces appeared in his cellblock; where was Duggan? Gone years ago, though he didn't know where. Just gone, without a thought.

He still got the odd letter; Wanda incessantly, sometimes Sam. Once in awhile, Morita, Dernier. He thought he saw Stark's name once; but he'd ripped that up. 

A blank envelope was on his cot one day. Within was no letter, just a photo - you, he though. His heart nearly burst, staring at that younger version of yourself, with a toothy grin and a book bag on your arm. It broke him and brought him joy, all the same. Perhaps you were out there, waiting for him, just as he imagined. 

He turned the snapshot over and frowned; scrawled on the back, in greenish ink, was a number that marred the image. 

The year is all wrong. It couldn't have been 1959. 

______________________

  
Time moves on; and so do you. Your third child, your second son, completed your family. Named for his father, the man you credited your life to. Not that Bucky ever agreed; you pulled yourself from the fire on your own strength. He was lucky enough to come along. 

The fear ebbs away as the days go by; as milestones pass in the rearview mirror. Birthdays, tantrums, first days at school, lost teeth and travel. Midwifery isn't an archaic practice in Europe; and you find your skills praised and useful in the homes of Beauvais. You make a life, you and Bucky; you crave happiness out, even with the sparing glance over your shoulder or occasional lie. 

Your babies grow; they know Bucky to be to be their father. He's a stunning example for them; and you'd imagine Edgar would be happy to see you and Billy now. Billy blossoms again, back into the lively, sweet boy he had once been. If he ever thinks of life in America, if he remembers Steve at all, he doesn't say. Perhaps he is as eager to leave the past be as you are. 

Years tick on; and it isn't perfect. Some nights you're back in the attic, sometimes Bucky is on the table. It's a challenge to fight back to the present. Sometimes you can't let Bucky touch you, and others Bucky feels he doesn't deserve to. It is ongoing; the past hooked in tight. But it blurs away, little by little.

Life happens. Grade school into graduation, university. Engineering, medical school. The kids shoot up, Billy stands taller than you now. Licenses, little fights. Grey hair and wrinkles. You welcome it; there was a time you never thought you'd see it. 

From time to time, you think you see someone; tall, blond, blue eyes. He couldn't be there, it's a trick of the eye. You love your life; but you can't name the feeling in your chest. 

Maybe there isn't one. 

______________________

  
The face staring back at him couldn't possibly be his. Silver streaked his hair, wrinkles lined his eyes, his mouth. Spots on his cheeks, hollowing. 

It'd only been a few years... hadn't it? 

Memories came in and out; some days he knew the year, some he didn't even know his name. An older woman came to see him sometimes; she speaks with a Sokovian accent, but that can't be Wanda. That couldn't be right. 

Nobody looks familiar anymore; the inmates all seem taller and fiercer than ever. Was he ever like that? He can't remember. The staff treat him gently; he's a docile shadow of who he used to be. He's just confused by it; confused by the face in his mirror, by the pills they make him take, by the soft smiles. Wasn't there a time that they wouldn't dare look him in the eye? 

The mind fades in and out; breakfast one minute, then in the yard. Asleep, then suddenly in the infirmary. A heart condition, so they say. And that memory isn't what it used to be. 

He would agree if he could remember what it used to be. 

After the second trip to the hospital, intensive care, cardiovascular wing, they stamp his file in new red ink. Compassionate Release. 

Even Steve Rogers didnt deserve to die in cement and steel. 

______________________

You never liked planes; but this flight was terrifying. 

You knew well it was time; the children were grown, and time had built a mighty fence to keep away the past. In your heart, you missed home; brilliantly lit in oranges and blues, that last night. Billy - William, now - had been eager to go back. See what looked the same. 

So when two of your children received job offers, tickets were bought. 

Your nails dug into the arm rests; LaGuardia was waiting for you. 

A steady hand to your right swept up your own. Even with years on him, Bucky's gorgeous blues hadnt diminished. "It'll be okay, Y/N," he whispers. "There's nothin' left to hurt you there. We'll be safe." 

You give him a tight smile. "I know, love," you squeeze his hand. "Can't quite help these nerves though." 

He stroked a loose hair behind your ear. "That's fine," he still smirked as he once had, youth in his smile. "I'll be right here; whenever you need me." 

The engines roars to life, the jet beginning its taxi down the runway. On your left, your daughter squeezes your hand. A grin, near identical to yours, spreads on her face. 

Life was waiting for her, now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the second to last chapter, ya'll; what do we think waits for us in chapter 20? 
> 
> Leave me a comment or kudos if you'd like; I want to thank all of you for coming along on this ride with me so far. We're so close; here we go.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our last chapter.

The beep of machines is Steve's new normal. 

He doesn't know how long he's been in the hospital; he doesn't really remember getting there either. As his mind cuts in and out, the room becomes the only familiar constant. Sterile white walls, fluorescent lights. The machines that monitor his vitals - drifting, though they might be - are intercut with the voices of nurses, the wheeze of his breath, the crinkle of his blankets. 

He squints his eyes out at the sharp grey of the sky, and tries to remember. He was a king once. 

"You don't have long, Mr.Rogers." He's heard them say that countless times; the reality of it finally starting to stick. It doesn't sound right - wasn't he a captain? Why is his life dwindling now? He accepts the information, but it doesn't make sense. He looks down at his liver spotted hands; one is restrained to the bed rail at his wrist. How did that happen? 

He slips into sleep so easily nowadays; he loves it. 

You're always there. Waiting in his dreams. 

Sometimes he knows you, and you're just as happy to see him. He feels lighter there; his bones don't ache, it isn't hard to breathe. Sometimes, you're just a face he knows, but he can't name. In his mind he cries, but you're gentle and sweet and hold him anyway. 

He loves his dreams; it always hurts to wake up. 

He wonders where you went - he has so much left to say. 

______________________

  
"Steven Rogers, released due to age..." 

A voice is reaching into his slumber, pulling at the threads that wrap him so tight in memory. 

"Cardiomyopathy, consistent with heart failure, poor liver condition..." 

Who is she? Is she talking about him? His waking mind is rushing its curiosity. All he wants is to go back to sleep, back to you. 

"Patient is to be kept comfortable, little to be done at this stage..." 

He's heard it all before, but he doesn't like it. He doesn't like hearing the last sands tumbling through his hourglass. 

The beast of Brooklyn, left to die in a hospital bed; what a sorry way to go. 

"...you poor thing." 

Sympathy? His eyes are resistant to open, stinging in the cold light of the room. He couldn't remember the last gentility or kindness he'd been shown; all the staff seemed to know his rap sheet, and treated him as such. Who is this, who sees a person instead of a record? 

When his sight finally adjusts, his heart nearly stops. 

_You._

But how? You look as though you haven't aged a day; maybe even younger. Standing there, at the foot of his bed, flipping through his chart. It couldn't be real; you couldn't be real. 

Was this it? Perhaps its your ghost, finally come to take him away? That couldn't be right either; the two of you are destined for very different afterlives. 

Despite fear, guilt, and who knows what else blocking up his throat, he manages to whisper something out. 

"...Y/N?" 

He startles you, finally looking up; but it couldn't be. Your face is the same, everything so familiar, but the eyes... something isn't quite right. 

"Mr.Rogers, I'm sorry, did I wake you?" You, the woman, whoever she was, rounds the bed. A smile; again, just like yours. How could it not be you? 

"Y/N... oh _God_, Y/N," tears he didn't know he carried spill out, and with his one uncuffed hand he grabs hers. Holding it to his cheek, he sobs; fifty years worth of denial and guilt come rushing out. "I thought you were dead, oh God..." 

"S-sir?" She's dumbstruck. She had not anticipated this, her first day on the cardio wing. Tears were a given, but this old man breaking down at her hands, what is she to do with that? "Sir, I'm-- I'm sorry, but I'm not who you think I am, I'm your doctor--" 

"Of course you are, you always were-- you're so smart," his tears blur his already poor vision as he holds onto her so tightly. "So, so smart; you saved my life... God I'm sorry Y/N, I'm so so sorry...!" 

The confusion was beginning to turn to fear. Why did he keep calling her by her mother's name? How did he even know that?

"P-please, Mr.Rogers-- sir, you're hurting me--" just as she went to twist her arm away, he lets go, as if her skin was on fire. The same hand claps over his mouth, suppressing further cries. 

"I-I'm sorry, Y/N, I didnt mean t'-- I never meant to hurt you, I'm sorry..." his efforts to contain himself fail, and he doubles over in tears. His first chance to see her in half a century, and he had hurt her again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." 

The cardiometer behind him is going mad, his heart is rapid in his chest; he needs to calm down. It isn't quite protocol, but the doctor rests herself on his mattress, taking back his now tear soaked hand. 

"Hey," she speaks as gently as she can, running her thumb over his papery skin. It's just what her mother would do when she was a child, sad and crying. "Its okay, sir... Steve? Is that okay if I call you Steve?" 

With shaking breaths he rests back on his pillows, sniffing back his sobs. "Of course," he breathes. "Of course you can." 

She gives him a smile again, and he feels richer than he ever was. "Thank you. I just... I need you to know, its okay, Steve," his fingers curve around hers again, but softly now. "You're okay. You didnt hurt me, I'm okay, see?" 

She places his fingers where they'd grasped too tight; indeed, she is fine. In some part of his mind, somewhere locked away, he knows it's not her; but his waking mind will never realize it. 

"Oh Y/N... still so kind," he smiles; the muscles ache from lack of use. "I... can you ever forgive me? All those years, everything I did..." 

She knows it's wrong, entirely inappropriate; who is she to speak for whoever he is pleading to? But those sad blue eyes, still bright and lively behind the wrinkles, they sway her. Everyone needs a little compassion, in their last days. 

"Yes, Steve; I forgive you," she can see a weight leave him, years worth of pain. She glances to the cuff on his wrist; but chooses to focus on the person attached to it instead. "I-I forgive you, and... its okay. We're okay."

He smiles again; more naturally this time. Finally, his time feels served. He squeezes her hand, softly, like a loved one should. "Thank you..." he murmurs. Sleep is attempting to latch onto him again; for once he doesn't want to retreat into dreams. "You... you were always so much more than I deserved, just... thank you. Thank you." 

She can see he's starting to nod off; the encounter was likely more than he could handle. She soothes her fingers over his hand as his eyes close, his monitor taking up a steady- if weak - beat. "Its okay Steve. Everything is okay." 

He's fast asleep when she's ready to leave; vitals checked, IV bag replaced. He's sound and calm, but the encounter has shaken her. Questions from her youth that only had half answers rise up in her. She glances back at the old man, this Steven Rogers. 

Something is there that she can't quite shake.

______________________

  
She sits in her car for longer than she means to, staring at her parents' porch. Family dinner tonight; she hasn't seen her brothers in ages, and she's excited for her mom's cooking and her dad's stories--

But Steve is stuck in her mind. 

It would've been one thing for him to call her by some other name; just a senile episode. But her mother? It was too specific. One thought lingered in her head, just words she was too scared to pull into a sentence. 

She knew that her dad wasn't her biological father... but that's where the story stopped. 

Had she just found the ending? 

Knuckles rapped on her window, making her jolt; William's goofy smile peering through the glass. 

"You comin' in? Y'know Mom's not gonna serve you a plate out here." 

She took a breath and stepped out, where her brother eagerly waited with a hug. "Hiya kid." 

"Hey, Will," she smiled at him, over her worries. "Was just taking a minute. Long day at work." 

"Oh I bet, Miss Cardio," he chuckled, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go. Y'can tell us all about it inside." 

______________________

You had made such a warm home; and even in your golden years, its full of life. 

You've got your roast on the table. Jimmy, your youngest, is bending your ear about how his wife is sick at home, how much she wanted to come, how she'd love a plate sent home. Your eyes crinkle with a laugh, setting out potatoes, carrots. Alpine, in her feline glory, relaxes on the stair, observing the Barnes' household chaos. And Bucky, desperately trying to airplane a spoonful of applesauce into your first grandchild's mouth. She isn't having it. That's just how Rebecca is.

You couldn't be more grateful; life gave you more than you had ever expected. 

The door opens; your middle and oldest finally home. 

"About time, you two," you tease them, propping your hands on your hips. "Was beginning to think you skipped out on us." 

"Never, mom," William - Billy, when he let's you call him that - promises, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Smells fantastic in here." 

"When doesn't it?" Your daughter - your greatest pride from the worst year of your life. When she hugs you, she holds on tighter, longer. "Hi mom." 

"Winter," she was all you couldn't have been in your time; brave, independent, a doctor. Always surprising you and making you proud. "How's my favorite doctor?" 

She still blushes at that. "Starving." 

Dinner is as it's always been; boisterous, talkative, and a little chaotic. You've come to know it's one of your favorite things in the world. Whenever he catches tears in your eyes, still a little disbelieving, Bucky grabs your hand. He anchors you, keeps you in the moment. Safe, happy, loved. Everything you've always wanted for each other. 

The night is clear and the stars are bright by the time the evening slows down. Jimmy is first to go; he has to get home and put his little one to bed. Bucky is the last to give her a kiss before she's strapped into her baby seat, and they're on their way. 

She reminds him of Winter at that age, he says. 

William always stays a little longer, relaxing in the den, dozing in your recliner. He never did like being far from home. You never blamed him for that. 

Winter volunteered to wash up the dishes - odd for her, something she usually hates. You don't question it though; time off your feet is a gift you won't deny. You're getting sore in your age; but life has let you go on this long. You're happy for the odd wince or crack. 

You still fit neatly under Bucky's arm, resting against him on your sofa. He is reading an older book, something by Bronte; nothing worrisome even entering his mind. Exactly where you're supposed to be; nothing like what you thought your life would become. Your eyes close, content. 

"I love you, honey." 

Bucky always puts a smile on your face; but those words make you grin. 

"I love you too, Buck." 

It feels right; even if guilt pains you, once in awhile. You're happy. 

"Mom?" 

You open your eyes to find Winter at your other side, worry and anxiety plastered on her face. Its uncanny, how much she took after you, and how little she took after... 

Well, maybe around the eyes. 

"Yes, what is it?" She is chewing at her lip; that was her tell. Something is weighing heavy on her. "Are you alright, Win?" 

"Yeah, of course mom," she murmurs, running a hand over her face; what words could she find? "I just... I had this patient today, and... well I need to ask you something." 

"Alright." 

"About your life," she swallows down her nerves. "...before you left Brooklyn?" 

The room seems to still at that. Bucky stops reading, and William's head lifts, eyes open; though he seems to be looking at something that wasn't there. In your own body, your heart freezes. You almost know the question before she asks it. 

"Do... does the name Steve Rogers mean anything to you?" 

Your breath stops, Bucky's arm tightens on you. William stands, leaves for the other room. He still can't think about him. Somehow, the past has caught up with you. 

Winter just looks at you with open, yearning eyes. With questions she had harbored for years, you had no doubt. The questions you'd wished she never asked. 

Your Winter; your girl full of mystery. 

She was owed her answers; she deserved the respect and honesty you'd always sought. 

"Darlin'?" Bucky draws your attention for a moment, the past glossing over his eyes as well. "What... what do you want to do?" 

He always looked to your lead; gave you the reins. And in this, you know the path. You dip your head in a nod before turning back to your daughter. Steve's daughter. 

"Yes love, I knew him," even with his evil; he had given you her. And she deserves the truth. "A lifetime ago." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it; ended exactly as I planned it, some months ago. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for coming on this ride with me, it was so unexpected and wonderful and exciting. 
> 
> If you'd like, leave me a kudos or comment ♡♡♡ 
> 
> Be safe and be well. We are not weak.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos if you like ♡♡


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